Finding Faith
by sweetprincipale
Summary: A spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves.
1. Chapter 1

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Parts of the first chapter are from Offers. After this- we're in new territory._

_Dedicated to: All those faithful readers of Offers Who Can't Refuse who said they were intrigued by the Faith-Wesley dynamic and wanted more._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part I**

_Beginnings_

It was a daring rescue. It was, some might say, a damned foolish rescue. The last time the girl had been conscious, she wanted to kill most of them, had nearly succeeded in many cases, and had_ actually _succeeded in a few.

It was like saving a wounded tiger and hoping it licked your hand, not bit off your arm.

At least, those were a few of Wesley's thought at some points on his frantic drive to the hospital to rescue the unconscious girl from the assassin Travers had sent after her. He expected a helpless body in a coma. He expected to do his duty, to save his Slayer.

_She is still mine. It's a bond I never understood, and never had. Was too pompous, too smart and ignorant all at once to have._

He hoped that at least once he'd experience that special something Giles and Buffy shared. Of course it wouldn't be father-daughter relationship, but... maybe there would be something. One moment where he didn't just _know _what the Watcher's job description was, that he actually felt as though _he was her Watcher._

So Wesley resigned himself to have a one-sided labor- not of love, but of tarnished honor- that lived up to his title. Even if that title would soon be removed by the Council.

_A Watcher watches. Watches over in this case. _He'd save her life, and he'd prevent an unnatural death however he had to.

That was where the journey ended, and the man of letters found himself turned into a man of action. Real action this time, not grudging assistance or needed self-preservation. Taking action.

Wesley recalled wondering if most "heroic" figures on a mission of mercy thought they were about to expel their stomach contents. _Maybe that's where the clenched, determined jaw comes into play._

Everything after was a blur.

* * *

Faith was faintly aware of shuffling. Living like this, sometimes everything was black, sometimes it was in color, and sometimes there were sounds. Never voices speaking to her, just about her. Not in a very, very long time had she heard a voice call her by name, say anything except about numbers or vitals or other crap like that. The rustling faded back to black.

* * *

Tidy the room. Notes on the clipboard. Remove catheter. Move pillows. No flowers to water, or balloons or stuffed animals or cards to fuss with. The woman dressed as a nurse fluffed the pillows once more.

Waiting to make sure no one else was in this lonely hall, and that no one would think anything unusual about a nurse attending a comatose patient.

"Let's just see how you're doing tonight." Sylvia murmured in a falsely calm, pleasant tone. Hands on her wrists, fingers. Fingers were warm. Sylvia frowned. It would have been better if she'd been cool. Easier to believe this was a body waiting to be classified as such, instead of a young woman.

She clucked and tsked, and gently raised a bruised looking eyelid.

Sylvia bit her lip and stifled a curse.

The brown eye was alert! It seemed to focus on her. The pupil was responsive to the light change. The brain wave activity showed a tiny spike. Then another. Another. Oh God, _real _activity! A pattern, not an occasional fluke. _Not now, not now, not now!_

Sylvia let the eyelid fall and it fluttered weakly, like a moth caught in a storm. Shaking hands fumbled among her towels and sheets, searching for the injectables.

Faith's uncanny senses twinged and pinged. _What is it? What's wrong? Am I dying? I don't feel like I'm dying. Feel like shit, but, if I _know_ I feel like shit, that probably means something._

Faith's cracked, beige-colored lips parted in a mute exclamation as something was jerked out of her arm. A warm trickle of blood was sopped up, and Faith used every ounce of her beyond natural strength to force her eyes open just a sliver.

Sylvia was unsettled. She'd unplugged the machines now, one by one, and waited for some sign of slowing. But nothing. The thready pulse, if anything, became stronger. Time for the drugs. She found her hands had the nerves that she refused to acknowledge outright, for they jerked roughly, clumsily, and blood flowed from the vein before she was ready to staunch it.

Syringe loading was difficult with one hand, but she had to keep the washcloth pressed to the arm now, or someone would wonder why there was blood on the sheets and her gown. And the stained washcloth- _I have to hide that, burn it._ The hands trembled again, unsteady as they prepared to inject the drug, enough to send her into a permanent slumber.

Faith knew something was wrong. Slayer senses, waking after hibernation, screamed "Danger! Danger!" _This is where I kick ass. _

Her body had betrayed her. She couldn't move. Her fingertips danced once, then lay still, trembling slightly. _Outside forces. Controlled my life. Ended my life. _The liquid brown eyes opened further, painfully, and met anxious ones a foot away.

"I'm sorry, my dear. Your time is up." Sylvia said with a sick attempt at compassion.

_I have to move, I have to! _The fingers flailed again, and her arm made a leap of an inch that left her feeling ready for death, so literally "dead tired".

"You've been still for over a month. You have no muscle tone. Even for- well what you are- that's a long time to sleep." Sylvia kept prattling, sheer anxiety making her hiss out words as she pulled the arm taut, lifting it to her side. "You'll sleep now, my lamb. Sleep where no one will hurt you..."

Faith's strength gave out, arm went limp, eyelids fell, squeezing out a tear from under each as she waited for a cold steel pinch.

Which didn't come. Rustling came. And two sharp grunts, one male, one female, she could tell. Eyelids managed to struggle open again, a millimeter just enough to see-

_I must be dead. 'Cause this sure wouldn't happen on earth._

* * *

Wesley hesitated for a second. A nurse preparing an injection. This was routine. He prepared to knock softly, then he saw the woman slip a bloodstained cloth into her pocket. _But the laundry hamper is right there. And bloody linen is never touched in a hospital setting if they can help it. And bare hands are never used either. _

_She's not wearing gloves. She's not a real nurse. Faith!_

He hadn't felt this before, but it was a superhuman rush. He suddenly understood why Giles would make deals with vampires, why he'd steal cars, why he even thought about taking a life. There was something very, very precious, a one of a kind jewel with a living soul- and it was his to guard, and he could not let it be lost.

He didn't recognize himself in the rush, only knew that he was through the door in a silent blur, and his elbow crashed into the back of the woman's skull with enough force to make her grunt and fall to her knees, and him to grunt and wonder how one wore an elbow cast.

The shock of what she saw made her eyes flare open, then settle halfway closed, watching the show from the corner of her straining eyes.

Faith didn't recognize this man. At first. When she did, she couldn't believe it anyway.

_Mr. Uptight, Up My Ass- minus the glasses and the suit- going for the K.O. on the nurse lady. Power move, a bone to the back of the head. Ooh, and when she rises- knees her in the face! _The eyes found another burst of interest forcing them open again.

* * *

The rush wore off when the pain set in and the blood started to flow from the unconscious woman's split lips and bashed nose. "Oh what've I done? What've I done?" Wesley held his hand to his mouth. _What if _that_ was a nurse? A careless, new nurse, but a nurse nonetheless?_ "What have I done?"

A weak, dry whisper followed his words. "What've you _done_? Who the hell _are_ you?" Faith's eyes were closed, but she managed to gasp out her question.

Pain and worry forgotten. "Faith!" Wesley nudged the prone form out of the way, and yanked the privacy curtain around the bed, coming to her side as he spoke urgently. "You're awake!"

"Barely."

"Listen to me, we haven't got much time." He began. "They'll know something is wrong in a moment. That nurse should be back on her rounds I imagine, or they'll have heard the noise. Or they'll check for equipment failure. Your monitors aren't sending any data- they've all been unplugged." He was instantly relieved. "Oh good. She's _not _a real nurse."

"No." Faith didn't have energy for a big answer, though her weak body managed a tiny smirk. If he had beaten up a legit nurse it would have been funny. "Think I... got that... when she said my time... was up." Oh man, speaking wore her out. Her eyes were frantic when she opened them again. Weak and unable to move very much, or at least not without feeling like she'd just went ten rounds with a horde of vampires, she realized the last memory she had was battling with Buffy. And this simp was on the goody-goody side. _So why'd he save my life?_

_ It's what the good guys usually do._

_ I guess the baddies just leave you to rot. Or hire someone to shoot you up with whatever was about to end up in my arm._

"Your time is not up." Wesley misread the panic in her eyes. "You just aren't used to speaking. We'll sit you up and you'll be fine in a minute. And then we need to move." He looked over his shoulder and at the woman on the floor. "Just for a minute." He mumbled and slid her up with one arm, scooting pillows under her back.

She fell back halfway, unable to catch herself, and she glared at him for it. "What'd they do to me?"

"You've been in a coma for about a month, Faith. Severe head trauma. Massive blood loss." _We can go into that later._ "You'll be fine. You're a Slayer. Your body can work through most things." _I've just had first hand proof. And Travers is wrong. This 'second string' is not inferior. She's every bit as strong as Buffy.- at least physically. And many times more likely to slit my throat. _"I'm sorry to - ah- come upon you so abruptly, but-"

"Take your hands- off me." Faith spat with as much anger as she could call forth. _Damn. Thought there'd be more._

"If I do that, you'll fall out of bed." Wesley told her flatly.

Faith huffed and blinked angrily, shifted around to knock his hands off. Nothing. More like a muscle spasm. "Why are you here?" Faith masked gratitude and relief with memories of rage and hate. _Hate him. Hate them all. Stupid dupes, all of them pretending the real world was some magic fairyland with happy endings. Good guys. Yeah. _Stupid_ guys, more like._

"Travers is trying to kill you. He's gone mad, barking, blistering mad. That nurse was a Watcher, one he ordered to stand guard over you. Well- posted here, with you." _I should have guarded her. She would have killed me. She still may._

"Huh? What?" Faith was genuinely startled. B might want to kill her. That was the point of so much of what she'd done. To make her know... what it was like when the darkness had hold of you and you stopped trying to fight it, and you just let yourself get swallowed up. Stop fighting the good fight, and just fight nasty, because you were good at it, and power was a trip, man.

_But tweedy boss man, who I've never even met? I was in a coma! What evil was I doing? Just leave me to die slowly, locked in this gray box with no windows. It'd hurt more. With everyone hating me. No one coming to see me. _

Her dark brows drew together, and her eyes raised up to meet his. "What happened?"

"Oh, what do you think? Wesley snapped waspishly. _For heavens' sake, why are we having this discussion now? Someone tried to kill you and we can talk about it after we leave the room with the unconscious would-be killer in it! _"Buffy won, the town isn't devils' playground, and you have a very long list of enemies in _both_ camps, for what you were, or what you are, or what they think you might be."

Discomfort. No one was supposed to look under the armor. "The usual, huh?" Faith said with a touch of her dark wit.

_She still smirks. Or she can't control her facial muscles. Either way... Yes, that probably was her usual. _Sadly he didn't know, and hadn't bothered to find out more than the basics- the basics according to what a young, prideful Watcher needed to know. Troubled past. Death of one Watcher. Then thrust into the care of a reckless, unsuitable one. Needed a firm hand, rules, orders, someone to show her respectability.

In other words- he knew nothing. Except this.

Faith gasped as his grip shifted. Wesley left his stance supporting her, and came around her front, pushing her shoulders back so he could look in her eyes while kneeling. "Now listen to me- I am not the person you think I am, and you are not the girl I think you want to be."

She hated this. Him looking at her, with something- honest and unvarnished in those eyes. "You don't know me." She growled weakly.

"No. I don't." Wesley returned simply, truthfully..

But people lie and play or expect something. People don't agree or use the truth unless they need to conceal a bigger lie, Faith's bruised psyche reminded her. "What's the deal?" She asked cautiously, wondering what he could want, what in the world she had left that someone could take.

"I want to get you out of here!"

A half mumbled moan came from the nurse. Wesley winced, and applied his foot to her face with a mumbled apology. "I can't keep her knocked out indefinitely!" Wesley looked back at Faith with an anxious stare.

Speaking and breathing were getting easier. Not much to go on, but at least she could tell him where to get off. "I'm not gonna be slaying- for either team- for a long time. Not the way I'm feeling..."_ In other words, don't do me any favors. I don't want to owe you one. I never liked being owned._

Apparently he didn't realize that was what helping her equated to. He shook his head and continued in a low, urgent voice, "That doesn't matter. If you stay here, you die, and I don't want that to happen."

Oh come on! If B, poster girl for Good Guys Inc. wanted her filling a coffin, and the Almighty Prince of Tweed was sending fake nurses after her, then this stuffed shirt was just playing with her. _Ha. You want to see me get all weak and helpless? Already am. I'm not gonna crack anymore for you._ "That so? Why not, English?" Faith demanded.

"Because I am- no, because I _want to be_ your Watcher." _I am many things without you. But I am not what I want to be._

"I don't work for anyone. Never will, ever again." Faith shot that down in a hurry. _Tired of being a pawn. Don't need to be "Watched"._

"Then I won't work for anyone either." Wesley vowed._ They would dismiss me anyway, according to Father. I suppose I'll lose my pension. I won't live to retirement anyway. When she gets back to full strength, I may not live to see my next birthday. I lose the title I've coveted my whole life._ He thought of Giles. _No. You might lose something official, some ink scratched out, words stricken from the rolls, perhaps._ _But you never lose the _position _of Watcher. Not if you do it right. _

"What?" Faith blinked.

"If I'm your Watcher, and you won't work for anyone, then I won't work for anyone." He reiterated. His eyes left hers and began to scan around the room. He hadn't planned on this. Well, he hadn't planned, period. _ We have to get her out of here and she can't walk. This must be the most negligent hospital in the world, where is security? Where is- _He stopped and sighed. _This is a Hellmouth, after all. I wonder if a good percentage of those in the morgue suddenly make a recovery of the vampiric nature? _"Give me a moment. If we're going to get you out of here we need a wheelchair. And we have to do something with _her_." He grunted at the body in scrubs.

"I'm not going with you!" Faith declared reflexively. _Why not? He has a lot more reason to be scared of me than the other way around. I was the one who played them. I could still play him. Wait until I get better and sneak up behind him. Knife in the-_Something inside abruptly snapped the train of thought onto a new track. _What 'outside force' makes you want to do that? Kill a human? Who just saved your life? _

Nothing. Just better not to trust people. _Fine then, don't trust. That doesn't have to mean kill- not all the time._ Her eyes closed, the effort of keeping them open for minutes at a time suddenly too exhausting, more than she'd done in weeks.

_Maybe for everyone, it might be safer, if I wasn't around people. Slayers are like that. Loners. So we don't hurt. Maybe so we don't _get_ hurt._ "I'm not going with you." Her voice was fainter, less reactive.

Wesley ignored her for a moment, slipping from behind the curtain round her bed after another hasty glance at the form on the floor, recalling that he'd seen one of those old, folding plasticine leather and steel wheelchairs in the hall. He furtively looked out the door. An orderly at the far end. The nurses' station was a good distance from her door and no one was facing his direction. He silently lifted the contraption up and slid back inside.

Faith opened her eyes again to see him unfolding the chair, locking it's collapsible joints in place. "Didn't you hear me?"

Yes, he'd heard her. He stopped fiddling with it, and moved back to the foot of her bed. Eyes locked.

He didn't know where this voice came from, nor the words. Maybe desperation. Maybe not giving a damn anymore. He was a condemned man in many ways, and so was she.

Faith's eyes opened fully, staring, as the voice turned low and gritty, but not threatening. Simply very, very sure, very soft. Almost silky, but silk stretched to the snapping point.

"I'm giving you a choice- either you lay here and waste away to nothing, or you trust someone for once in your life and we give each other a second chance to be the Watcher and Slayer no one thought we could be. That no one thinks we _can _be- not even us." What was making him talk like that, like he was struggling for air when she was the one who had been barely breathing? Nonetheless, the words were fierce and labored, even though they were coming out in a quiet voice. His last offer was said the softest, yet made her feel the most. "You lay here and die- or we show the world who we really are." He straightened back up, released the mattress that had somehow come to be the support under his hands, and stared at her, waiting.

She stalled. So many things inside her reached for that, and so many things warned her to back away. Stalling was middle ground. "Big speech..." She raised one eyebrow and tried to cross her arms indifferently.

He gave her a sardonic smile and offered her his hand. "Much shorter than my usual." _Take it. I know you can if you want to. If you still want to try._

She looked at it, fingers ticking slightly, and she shook her head once, muscles limp, but Slayer healing working with her newly awakened will. "I'm not trusting you- I don't know who you really are, man..."

It was so easy to quail under her rejection and mistrust. Wesley didn't let her see that. He looked at her unflinchingly, keeping his hand a few inches from hers. "Lying here won't help you find out, either." More certain words. "Those are the choices, Faith- second chances with someone who has nothing else to lose and everything to gain- or be nothing." A flash and a flare in her eyes, the real person underneath the hard mask. He dropped the unwavering glare he wore as well, just enough to let her see the empathy in his eyes. "Like they said we would be..."

The mocha eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're not the same guy."

"No. I'm not." Some sort of bitter pride came across in his tones. "I don't think any of us have ever met the real Faith. Not even you, perhaps."

Ooh, the fire was blazing now, molten and coppery in those formerly candid eyes. "Don't analyze me."

"Fine. I won't . But let me help you." This was becoming maddening. He now realized why Giles sometimes seemed to fly close to the edge.

"Don't rush me." Faith said mulishly.

Certainly a wise suggestion in this case. But not the one he could follow. He shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid I have to, we're running out of time. Those are the choices- what's it to be?"

Faith smiled a sickly version of her tough girl grin. "Death is such a buzz kill..." She struggled to sit up slightly, and this time her shoulders lifted on their own. Wesley caught her around the wrist, and helped her up, feeling feeble fingers clench reflexively on his.

Faith grit her teeth. It was the first time in a long time someone had been stronger and she was weaker. She thought it was the first time that had happened to him too. He didn't mention it, no gloat, no big grin, just another urgent look over his shoulder. "Into the wheelchair, your chariot awaits."

"Ooh a chariot. What kind?" Faith tried to joke to cover up the frustration she felt that he had to half lift her, half drag her up, that she leaned so heavily on him, and felt like a rag doll from the waist down.

"Hrm. It's a rather battered stolen rental honestly..." Wesley winced and sat her into the seat.

"Stolen?" An impressed look crept over her face. "Watcher's got some balls..."

Wesley felt his chest expand with a rush of pride, though he kept his motions quick and matter of fact. "Perhaps."

"Stolen from who?"

"Spike, Buffy, and an assortment of Council agents, and the good people at Pacific North Rent-A-Car." He smiled lopsidedly up at her as he evened out her legs.

All of that made NO sense but it didn't matter. Watcher grew some balls, and some bad to that ass! "No way! Sweet!" She chuckled. It startled them both.

"You may want to wait until you see it before you praise me too much." He knelt at her feet, sliding the wheelchair footrests under them.

Surreal. Mr. Suit and Accent, knocking out sweet little ladies, stealing cars, appearing like a scruffy savior and making her think, just for a second, that someone might offer you helping hand and not be holding a knife in the other one.

"I'm still knocked out, aren't I?" Faith asked as he reached under the small nightstand and retrieved a bag of bloodstained clothes and personal possessions. He dropped them in her lap with a soft thud. "Feels so real..."

With a supreme effort, he lifted the unconscious "nurse" from the floor into the bed, and covered her with the sheet. _That'll buy us about five minutes. I hope. _"Would you dream this?" He demanded, tugging the sheets up firmly and turning breathlessly back to Faith.

"Um. _No._ Never." She scoffed openly.

"There you are then. You are- what's that phrase you like? 'Five by five'?" He suggested with a grim little twinkle in his eye.

Faith shook her head and smiled wanly. "Dude, I am one by one at the_ most_."

"That's a start." He stood behind her now, gripped the plastic handles. "Here we go. I'm afraid this isn't going to be smooth. In fact this whole evening has fallen into the fast and messy category. But you'll be alive at the end of it."_ I hope with my whole heart._

She hugged the bag tighter to her, and leaned back, letting him drive. _Fast. Messy. Alive at the end._ "Just the way I like it."

He snuck a smile at the top of her head, pushed, and sent them out the door, back into the world once more.

* * *

Even though barely any time had passed, the world seemed changed. By adding one person, everything shifted in perspective. It wasn't what either of them was used to.

_One day and seven hundred miles away from Sunnydale..._

"It's a nice little town."

"I don't like 'nice little towns'." Faith huffed.

Wesley reached into the passenger seat and hauled her to a standing position. Faith clutched him and the car for support on her atrophied legs. "Then we won't stay for long. But you need to eat and we need gas. Furthermore, you need clothes. Those are covered in blood."

"I'm used to it."

"Well, I'm not." They glared, inches apart. He quirked one eyebrow. "Does it mean something horrific if a person wants you to have food and clothing? Do I get beaten up?"

She shoved him back as best she could and attempted to stand on her own two feet. She fell.

Only halfway to the ground, he snagged her up with a startled cry, and a look of such frustrated pain in his eyes. "Fine, if you want to wear that, so be it. If you want to be hungry, fine. I'm not here to force you. I'm here to help you." He let her sink back into the seat with his assistance and turned away muttering, "Some grand, helpful chap I am..."

"Wes, wait."

They both were startled. He spun too quickly, almost comically. _She asked me to wait!_

_ I called him Wes._ She sighed. "I look kinda gross, huh?"

"A bit. Better than yesterday." He encouraged.

"Are you always going to do that really annoying thing where you act like Mary Poppins and try to see the best in me?" Faith spat crossly.

"No. I'm going to always tell you the truth, and try to see you how you are. You look greatly improved from yesterday, and, if we're embracing honesty, you smell. You need a bath and a shampoo."

She smiled lopsidedly. "That's better."

"Thank you." He gave her a half-grin himself.

He got in beside her and started the car. "I'll find a bigger city, if that makes you feel more at ease."

What would make her feel more at ease was if he suddenly turned on her and she could hit him. Or if she was strong enough to knock him out and steal the car. To find out if he was going to hurt her, or if she was going to hurt him. "Don't waste your time trying to make things nice." Faith moodily advised, closing her eyes.

"I don't think anything I do with you wastes my time." Wesley stared straight ahead and drove with a grim set to his stubbled jaw.

They'd only gone two blocks when her inborn rebelliousness found a new path. _Dammit, Faith- you smell nasty, you're starving, your wardrobe is full of dried blood and stab holes, and you're probably on everyone's hit list, bad guys and good guys. So what if he wants something from you someday? He saved your life and he wants to help you- for now, for whatever reason. _

_ You have to try. If you ever want to be anything, you have to try one more time._

"Could we stop at that hotel?" Faith asked in a flat voice, acting as if she didn't care one way or the other.

"If you like." Wesley replied in the same emotionless tone, and headed for it.

* * *

She never stopped watching him. He deliberately didn't watch her. Showing he could turn his back on her, even though he held his breath a little every time he did. He moved with all of his former neat, fussy precision, but in sweat-stained clothes and with a stubbled jaw, setting things down for her in her room, preparing to adjourn to his own- before both of them remembered she couldn't even walk on her unsupported yet.

"You always so tense when you're alone in a room with a hot brunette?" Faith tossed out flatly. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. "Or is it just corpse-like brunettes?" Pale, gross, and - ew. _Shit, man, I've seen dead junkies who have have healthier looking hair._

"If I seem nervous, I imagine it's because I expect someone to barge through the door and kill one or both of us." He paused, head cocked slightly. "Both of us, upon further consideration." Wesley turned down her sheets for her and that was the last of the meager tasks he could do for her, with the next to nothing they had with them.

Faith frowned. _What? He's going to die for me now? No. I don't think so. I don't deserve it. I don't want it._ The frown twisted, sardonic, sarcastic, mocking. "Yeah, you talk tough, Poindexter."

Wesley felt a prickle of anger, and ignored it. "Would it make you feel better if I were scared of you?"

_Hell yes_. Faith opened her mouth to spew out something vitriolic but he kept going.

"Because I am. I know how amazingly powerful you are, and I know that you don't exactly enjoy my company, that I'm not the person you'd choose to - well, to do anything. But it's not going to stop me." He turned and gave her a grim ghost of a smile. "You look quite terrifying. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Faith looked past him, to the mirror. Her head refused to stay up straight for more than five minutes at a time. Her fingers could clench but her hand wouldn't even tighten into a fist. _Can't stand. Can't make a move. Can't fight. _

_He still thinks I'm powerful? Screw loose. All that tea must cause smart ass accents and stupid ass logic. _ Inside she was grudgingly relieved. "You don't have to be a wimp. Not like I can even tie my shoes." She joked and attempted to shrug.

"I'll remember that." He mimicked the slight easing of tension. "Well... A good meal and a good rest and a change of clothes should do wonders. I'll let you get sorted and I'll order in something. I saw a shopping center a block or two down. If you'd give me your sizes I'll pick up an outfit. O-or you could do that yourself."

"You go ahead. What's the point of me taking a bath and then having to get back into this?" She picked feebly at the stained shirt with the six inch split in the middle, still caked in dried blood.

"Quite." Wesley tried not to wrinkle his nose. "I'll leave you to your ablutions then."

"My what now?"

"Your bath." He gestured to the little room off to the side where he'd carefully laid out everything for her, the towels, the tubes and bottles and all those miniature toiletries.

"College boys." Faith pushed herself out of the armchair Wesley had put her in. Force of habit. The floor rushed up to meet her and she landed, sprawled, helpless, on the stiff carpeting.

"Faith!" He hauled her up gently, silently berating himself for not catching her. She glared at him.

"I hate Buffy." She struggled to her knees with his help.

"I imagine it's mutual." Wesley sighed and laid his shoulder under hers, hoisting her to a standing position .

"Where are we going?" Faith protested, as if she didn't know.

"I- um- can you- that is..." Wesley was too stressed to even blush. _Why in the world did I allow myself to get into this predicament?_

"You don't have to do this. I can do it myself!" Faith snapped at him, embarrassed and annoyed that she even needed help walking. Now dressing too. Undressing. Bathing? _What, am I not going to be able to wipe my own ass? _

She'd been pushed and thrown around a lot of her life, until she got big enough and bad enough to fight back._ Life like this? Maybe dying would have been better._

"I don't object to doing it! I'm simply not- very good at doing it." Wesley confessed. He would gladly let her attend to everything herself. This job, as the Academy presented it, was about knowledge, techniques, tracking, portents and potions. You had to find out yourself how messy it was.

But how human and real.

_No. Not "gladly". I need this. I need to be there, to know what it is when you live life, when you care, when it hurts. Tired of being in shadows and living by rules that were not meant to do anything but make your soul as dry and paper-thin as the books you pore over._

"I'll help you get - hrm- prepared, and then you can- ah- stay wrapped in towels while I run out to the store."

Her limbs shook with exertion.

His hands shook with nerves.

She nodded, and he stiffly jerked his head in turn.

"You get wandering hands and you die."

"I had figured." He gasped out an acknowledgement.

* * *

His eyes stayed pointedly down. He saw ankles and toes. A wadded up pool of denim in his hands followed by something smaller and cottony. He only touched them long enough to remove them and look at the size labels.

Faith had a man literally kneeling at her feet. She'd had men there before. Never like this.

There was something that was helpful about the position without being servile. He helped her undress, his eyes never lifting, he helped her into the tub without ever touching, simply kneeling and letting her use his shoulders as a living support to guide herself into the bath.

Now for the supreme effort of staying upright and not drowning... Faith braced her feet on the inside edges, a large towel clutched with one arm to her chest.

"Are you alright?" Wesley asked, hearing splashing, afraid to look.

"I'm not five by five, but I'm approaching two." Faith grimaced.

"I'm going to go now. If you're sure you don't need any help. I- I'll come back in when you're ready to get out." He fumbled to shut the shower curtain, not looking at her at all.

"Okay..." She called after him. She had an odd sensation. A doubting one, a nagging one, one that made her tired brain drop its defenses. They hadn't turned on each other. He hadn't tricked her, turned her over to someone from the bad side or the good side. Twenty four hours and no one was dead.

In the warm water, she let out a deep, shuddering sigh, and felt tears she didn't have the energy to brush away roll down her cheeks. "Hey... thanks." Faith called to her unlikely ally.

Wesley was running a tired hand over his rapidly aging, slimming face. Shadowed eyes momentarily lit up at her voice. "Of course!" He called back. I_t's what I do. What I _will _do. _"Of course..."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Dedicated to: Helenluvsboo, Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, kerry,220, jewel74, mike13z50, Naomi, and Kathryn Merlin. Thank you helping me with your support as I write these characters for the first time!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part II**

_Harsh Realities_

He returned from the store with a fast beating heart. He opened the door to her room after knocking and hearing her call, "Come in!"

_Well, at least she hadn't flown the coop. Not that this was prison. Not that this was- bother it_. He came in cautiously and saw her still in the position he'd left her, propped up in a nest of pillows, remote in hand, wrapped in towels, now supplemented with sheets.

"Did you get lipstick? 'Cause damn, do I need some color." Faith greeted him caustically, after an hour of staring listlessly at the television and the mirror across from the bed bearing her own sallow reflection.

"I- oh. No. I didn't think of that." _Has watching Buffy taught you nothing? It's not just a soldier of fate, it's a girl! Or in Faith's case, woman._ Yes, he definitely thought Faith, though only a year or two Buffy's senior, had more of a worldly air. Not necessarily a good thing. "We can pick something up on our way out of town."

He set the bag of clothing down beside her on the bed and put the other bag of take out on the small table in the hotel room. "I'm afraid I didn't know what you'd like so I went with sandwiches. A variety. And soft drinks."

Faith looked at him with something between amusement, cynicism, and gratitude. _Dude covers the basics. Food, clothes, and shelter. More than anyone else has done for me. _

_Besides the Mayor_. That was how she thought of him, "The Mayor". Or Sir. But that was when she was speaking to him. Part sugar daddy with no sex, part boss with a family interest, all in all- the last person to respect her for her gifts.

_And he's dead. Another one bites the dust. Men do that. People do that. _

Maybe her vision was skewed, maybe she was leaving out the Sunnydale welcoming committee of the extended Slayer family. They had tried and failed to be what she needed, or she failed them._ Or we just betrayed each other. _

The wariness in her eyes increased as he hesitantly sat at the foot of the bed. She drew her sheet more tightly over her chest, but with her weak arm strength, it just sagged.

"Are you cold?" He asked with instant concern. "I didn't know where we'd be heading, so I brought long sleeves and short ones. I hope the sizes are suitable. I kept the receipt." Again, he was met with silence. He coughed once and flexed his fingers on his knees.

"I'd offer to leave. But I thought you might need some-" _Help_. Her eyes were daggers, and his tactics changed, "I thought we might need some time to discuss our plans."

Faith had to agree on that. "Yeah. Let's do that, Wes. Tell me what you have planned." Her tone was challenging, and she realized belatedly that it's not wise to challenge people when you can't even sit up straight.

He was too tired and stressed to be angry at her, though he felt a mild irritation at her tone. _That's the old Wesley. You care for petty grievances. The girl nearly died! She was hunted. Still may be. You both may be. Dear God, be angry later, live now!_

His tone was quiet, concentrated, the voice of a man with the hounds of hell after him, and not much he can do to protect himself, or the person he desperately wants to save. "We can't stay long in any one place until I'm able to get in touch with Giles and find out what the Council is doing, or has done-"

"Hey! I said I wouldn't work for them." Faith interrupted angrily. _Another one you can't trust. Playing nice until he has you on your own, weak and defenseless._ "I told you that. I told you, I'm not their Slayer, I'm not the bad guys' Slayer, I'm basically a vegetable right now. If that was part of the deal, then you can just kill me now."

Wesley blinked and tore his glasses off his face, anger surfacing slightly. "Are you mad? Why in God's name would I be running for my life- and dragging you, a not very mobile- or cheerful- person with me, only to promptly reverse my actions and allegiances?"

Faith was silent. _Because people switch sides when its convenient. First rule of surviving on your own- stay alive however you have to. Duh. _

He continued. "That woman who attacked you, she was hired by Travers, who has been put on trial and hopefully by this time he's rotting in a cell, and all his operatives and orders rescinded. But I won't know that until I make a few calls, and I can't make a few calls without putting Giles and everyone in Sunnydale at risk!" His voice raised, then he coughed, modulating once again. "Also, I do not know if I'm currently employed by the Council, and if I'm not, I have no funds, except what's in my wallet, my bank account, and my credit cards. The majority of everything I owned- and for that matter, everything _you_ owned- is about 700 miles away. Furthermore, if I _am_ still employed by the Council- I soon won't be." _Because you won't be. Therefore, whither thou goest, I will go. _

_ Or because they fire me. Either way..._

"I-"

"One more." He insisted with a touch of his former priggishness. "If Travers' operatives are still under his orders, they may be tracking you, or if they're also targeting me, they'll be tracing my credit card usage. That's all."

He sat back, shoulders working as the desperation of the situation hit him. He had run blindly to the rescue. Only he wasn't able to properly provide a rescue. _She is the Knight. I'm not the damsel in distress, or the dragon, I'm the bloody page boy._

_God, he gets worked up._ It was real. That sweat, that clenching jaw, those rolling shoulders... He looked like he was headed into stroke-ville. "You suck at Survival 101? Keeping from getting your ass in a sling?" She summed up, not unkindly.

"To put it mildly- yes. I haven't had as much field training on this subject as say- identifying demons by slime residue."

"Gah." Faith frowned. "Well, you can be the ace on that subject. If I see somethin' nasty I kill it, don't even... think... about it." _ I'm a Slayer. I'm a murderer. I'm a bad guy. I'm a bad girl. Bad girl..._

Wesley watched the limp hands give an involuntary shudder. He followed her mind down the dark path she trod so often, knowing it had not yet led her to the light, only deeper into the black. "Which is one reason I'm going to need your help." Wesley dared to touch her ankle, making her spine, weak as it was, jerk stiffly in warning. "You're the skilled survivor. We'll pool our talents. We'll survive this." The hand dared to reach higher, to her hands, resting across her torso and lap. "We'll show them."

Something burned in his eyes. Something so true, and so determined. Maybe hopeless, but he didn't give a damn. She let him brush his fingertips to her wrist and shrugged. Faith hoped he realized that was more than she'd willingly, freely given anyone in a long, long time.

* * *

"Take your time eating." He was feeding her now, bite by bite, or just steadying her elbow as she drank her soda. "I believe the body needs time to adjust to solid food after an intravenous diet."

Faith swallowed noisily and looked at him with wide, annoyed eyes. "You mean I'm gonna _hurl_? Or you mean I'm gonna have the-"

He instantly paled. _No bodily function malfunctions, please, not on top of everything else. _"I just want you to take it easy!" He practically yelped. Then composed himself. "That's something else we need to consider. Medical treatment. You were pulled off of life support, but by some miracle you've survived. Slayer strength, or perhaps you were already coming around. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't a controlled, medically overseen procedure. I'll ask the receptionist if she can direct us to the nearest hospital for-"

"Can't." Faith said through a mouthful of roast beef. "Wanted fugitive. Plus, now I'm a _missing_, wanted fugitive."

"Oh. That's true." Wesley could hear his father's pleased but unpleasant tones inside his head. _Made quite the cock up, haven't you? You sniveling little disappointment. _

"I don't need it. I just need a gym and something besides sugar water. Maybe a couple weeks healing time." Faith said, lying to them both. "You need to get your stuff, and get your assets in cash." _And then I can take them both and run. If I could run._ "Stick to cash only places, mainly dives, where they don't look too hard anyway. Call someone over in Crumpet Land and find out if we're still on the hit list." She paused and looked toward the parking lot. "You think they're tracing the car?"

He thought. "No. The plan was for Giles to dispose of it, and I'm sure he'll say he has."

Faith snorted slightly. "You're gonna wanna ditch the car then, too."

Wesley kept his tone even. "Why is that?"

"You can't trust other people when you're the easy target. Giles got fired, right? Keeping him from being the big daddy Watcher with B.? You don't think he'd sell you out to get his gig back? Maybe a promotion?" She scoffed. "People change when they're desperate, Jeeves." Her hands rested on a tender stomach, a place she refused to admit was still painful over a month later, a place where the scar was faded, a place where a thick blade had made a single, "willing to kill for the person I love" cut. Made by the person she'd turned on and turned on and somehow never expected to have the killer instincts to pay her back in kind. "Even the best ones... there's animal in everyone when it's you or them."

Wesley stood up under the guise of disposing of their trash. "Yes. You're right." He admitted, back to her, her words sparking a hundred little flares of doubt. Then he pushed them down. There was no place to doubt in this situation, or they would not _be_ in this situation. He may have doubts, but if he'd planned to listen to them, he should never have gotten her from that hospital. "You're right on multiple levels."

When he turned to her, Faith didn't expect to see a half-smile under the tired, lined eyes. "When Giles thinks Buffy is in danger, he would gladly sell his soul to the devil to guarantee her safety. I've watched him turn ruthless. He makes deals with demons, he lies, he plots, he... he quite possibly could open the only library-slash-chop shop in the world." He swallowed the laugh that the image provoked in order to keep going. "But he does not sell out his friends, even then."

Faith sank back on her pillows, watching him, constantly surprised to hear Mr. Stiff open up, even crack a sort of high brow joke. She'd thought all the White Hats in Sunnydale had sense of humor removals. _Or maybe they just stopped laughing with me. They turned on me._

_ I turned on them._

Another painful shudder inside her mind, and in her hands.

Wesley saw it, keenly aware of all of her motions, and fairly intuitive these days. He knew what it was like to shed that skin you'd suddenly woke up in and realized you didn't want to be in any longer. "You're right about the desperation." He returned to the bedside. "It makes people do insane things. Rush into hospitals. Beat up strangers. Take stolen cars and 'dangerous women'." She smiled briefly. _She likes to be dangerous. Remember that she is. Remind her that danger doesn't have to be threat to everyone around her, not anymore. _"Desperation works in one's favor at times."

"Don't try to turn this into a pansy ass moral of the story moment, okay?" Faith felt the point looming home, and she shoved it off, armored up her already bulletproof heart.

"There is no moral, this isn't a story. It's reality. A reality where we're desperate enough to do unheard of things. I don't even know if there's a happy ending. I don't know if we live, die, or end up in prison, which to me seems like a cross between the two." Exhaustion won momentarily, and he allowed himself to lay cross the very foot of her bed, staring at the ceiling. Wondering how he'd arrived at this point in his life. Surely there had to have been a way to save her without destroying everything he knew, everything he was?

_Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it doesn't matter, because I was tired of being that barren, bookish man_. "We try our hardest to save you, and ourselves." He murmured to the emptiness.

Only it wasn't empty, though he felt so alone.

It was a grudging journey from her heart to her lips, but she was, like him, trying, trying one more time. Her toes nudged his ribs. "So. You're telling me there's a fighter in there? Under the pencil-pusher?"

He smiled and laughed once, softly in the dimness. "I suppose there is."

* * *

_Arrangements_

The silence grew until it was replaced by a snore. His. Her foot nudged his side again. "I'm here!" He gasped reactively.

"I know you are, you snore." She grumped. "You spendin' the night in here, or what?"

He considered. "I imagine you'd be safe enough without me in the same room, as long as I'm close. my room is the next one over. Can you bang on the wall if you need me?" He groggily sat up, blinking and running a hand over his scratchy chin.

Faith slowly moved her arm back and thumped the wall twice, not letting him see the effort it cost her.

"Excellent. I'm just on the other side of the wall. I'll let you have some privacy. If all else fails and you need me, just shout."

Faith's lips parted in a somewhat sexy smile, recalling past events. "Trust me. I know how to make noise in hotel rooms."

"Very good, then." Wesley said, smothering a yawn. He rose, then paused. "I didn't buy pajamas for you."

"Never wear them." Faith shrugged. Technically true. She usually wore shorts and tank tops, or undies and bras. Something in case she suddenly had to fight, attacked in her sleep. She'd learned her about lesson about sleeping nude after that incident with the Baptist group during the Boston heat wave. "Don't need 'em."

"Ah. Is there anything else you need, then?" Half the things she said unsettled him. Either in what he thought of as appropriate for a slayer, or appropriate considering his reserved English upbringing. What's worse, she knew it, and he was fairly sure that was why she did it. Any little digs to show that he might be more physically able, but that he was never more in control.

_That's your own damn fault. You came in like a miniature Travers, king of the Slayers, full of your puffed up pride, and tried to command them both. Don't be the same kind of fool twice. _

Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable, and try to act like she wasn't. "Yeah. You could do the Boy Scout routine, help me into the bathroom to do my thing."

"Of course." He gallantly offered his elbow, badly bruised from using it as a blunt weapon on the back of a skull.

"Nice arm shiner." Faith pushed herself forward- well, scooted. Wesley lifted her under the shoulders, eyes pointing to the ceiling as adjustments were made with her towels and sheets. "Perhaps a tee shirt?" He suggested in a polite, "I'm trying to help, not boss you about" voice.

"Maybe. Yeah. Let's do that." Faith agreed as she almost accidentally flashed him for the tenth time that day.

* * *

He helped her in and brought her the clothes, then left. In a few minutes she called "Pick up!", because she didn't know how to ask for help without sounding weak. But he came, and helped, and she didn't feel too badly about it. Not when he looked like he was in equal amounts of pain.

"Night, Wes." She gave him a half-smile.

"Goodnight, Faith. I'll be here if you need me."

The door closed, her eyes, closed, and in a little sigh she rejoined, "Yeah. Seems like you will be."

* * *

The next morning, Wesley woke after only a few hours of restless sleep, constantly checking to see if he heard noises. He decided to let her sleep after pacing his room, then peeking into hers. He watched for a minute, taking in the sight of her ribs falling and rising under a simple black tee shirt, before backing away again.

* * *

Back in his room, he returned to pacing. "There's a spell... there's a spell Giles mentioned..." It was infuriating not having his books, or even the ability to pick up a phone and call the man he needed to call, and who also could have told him the spell. A maddening circle. "To hell with it." He picked up the phone and muttered the nearest he could get to the obscuring and protective spell Giles had once mentioned.

* * *

The last month had trained Giles to respond to any sort of bell like Pavlov's finest student. The jangling of the telephone made him spring to action. "Hello?" He demanded instantly.

"Giles?"

"Wesley! We got your message! Where in the world are you? Is Faith with you?"

Wesley almost hung up the phone, but didn't. "Why do you ask about Faith?" He queried guardedly.

"Your message used the word "we" and Faith has been taken out of the hospital in apparent signs of a struggle. They've held the nurse attending her for questioning. It was all over the news. If you don't have her... Oh dear Lord, if you don't have her then-"

"I do have her." Wesley was quick to assure. "That woman, the nurse, she wasn't a nurse. She was one of Travers' plants. He even mentioned placing a guard in the form of a nurse in Faith's ward, and it didn't click until the issue with Buffy was all over." He'd blurted out a lot of information, instinctively trusting Giles, and yet he knew that he couldn't risk putting him in danger. "I shouldn't be calling, but-"

"You're fine to call." Giles' voice warmed by several degrees. "We won."

"We won?"

"Travers was sentenced to life 'as guest of the Watchers's Council'. Fallows is the new head of Council, and he's been handling everything very fairly. I can fill you in, just let me-"

"No, wait." Wesley halted him. "Travers in exile is still Travers. He gave the order to assassinate Faith after the investigation began, he must have, because he had to know Collins had failed. His primary goal was Buffy. He could still have his loyal supporters, he could be giving orders through his guards, he could be-"

"No, Wesley, he couldn't." Giles was grim now.

"What's happened? Why not?" Wesley felt his insides turn to ice.

"Someone got him. Something powerful. It took his being, his mind, his- his eyes, oddly enough." Giles stifled a gag. "They found him in the back of the armored transport car, heart beating, breathing, but completely unresponsive. Unable to speak, react, anything. There was ash beside him."

"My God... A living corpse."

"Of sorts. I've heard from Fallows that for all intents and purposes, he's merely a body. If Travers did have people willing to take orders against Fallows- or us- they'll be in no position to follow his commands, as he's in no position to give them."

Wesley's lungs spasmed, pulling in a sudden rush of air, letting out the nervous breath he didn't know he was holding. "Do you think-"

"I don't know what to think. Faith is certainly not a friend to the Council."

Wesley stiffened. "The Council has been no friend to her."

Giles smiled. "I see. It's good to know where your loyalties lay." Buffy had stood by him when they'd fired him, never truly giving his title to another. Wesley would remain loyal to his Slayer- and hope to help her. Hope to save her.

_Maybe they'll help each other. Give each other something they need. Heaven only knows Buffy and I... Well, there's no bond like it, whatever form it occurs in. _

_ Although they'll have to survive each other first..._

Wesley defended his loyalties impatiently. "I am still loyal to the aims of the Council. Not a megalomaniac puppeteer like Travers, but the Council as a whole. Protecting the innocent." _Faith is far from innocent. _"Stopping evil." _Faith worked for a man who became demon in pure demon form._ "I- it doesn't matter if I agree with everything they've done, or if they agree with what I'm doing now. The point is, will they leave us in peace?"

Giles stroked his salt and pepper hair into an untidy nest of worry. "I don't know. You, yes. Her? I imagine they still want her rehabilitated."

"I'll help her." Wesley said quietly. There was nothing more to say than that.

"Then I suggest you call Fallows and tell him. He's been ringing you nonstop, from what he told me." Giles paused. He knew they still wanted Wesley on staff. Or at least they had, not knowing everything that happened in the last day. "Hrm. I've been reinstated. With a raise."

"Heavens, what got into old Fallows?"

"I asked him the same thing. Apparently hope and sherry."

"That's something at least." Wesley hesitated before asking the next question. "It sounds as if you and Buffy are firmly in their good graces at any rate."

"For the moment. I don't think they're too happy with her choice of 'boyfriend', but he saved her life and handed over Collins unharmed. They can hardly offer more protection from him than the Slayer herself could."

"Mmhm. Good. Yes, that's a valid consideration."

"Wesley. You're stalling. If you had any of your ties, you'd be fiddling with it."

That was true. His fingers were absently picking at the center of his new shirt as he spoke. "Suppose I ask you to send my things onto me, but I didn't want the Council informed? Would you be willing to-"

"Of course. If they want me fired- again- for sending on someone's belongings, they can go hang."

"I don't plan on being in touch much. I don't plan on being a hassle. I also don't plan on trusting too many people. Not yet."

"Well. Hindsight is twenty-twenty." Giles murmured. If only he hadn't been such a foolish little twit when they'd met. They might've been friends. As it was- they were still comrades, Watchers with two very different, very challenging women. Giles suddenly shuddered. He couldn't imagine if fate had handed him Faith instead of Buffy.

_Maybe she wouldn't have turned out this way. Maybe she'd be worse. But putting Wesley with her? Dear Lord..._

"I'll help you. I want you to do me a favor in return."

Though Wesley was surprised to hear him ask for quid pro quo, he nodded and asked what it would be.

"Keep Faith away from Buffy. For now. Possibly forever. For as long as she's nursing violent impulses..."

"Giles, she's-"

"No, Wesley. _No._ They tried to kill each other, one time or another, for different reasons, right or wrong." His voice was suddenly tight and so soft he could barely be heard. "I almost lost her. I'll have to risk losing her again, and again, every time she fights. I won't add Faith to that list of things I have to fear."

Wesley nodded his chin against the receiver, swallowing. Yes. To lose either of them... "We don't need to concern ourselves about meeting. I think it wise if Faith exits the California area with all possible speed, and we won't be staying in one place for too long, I imagine. When we get someplace, a place we can wait a week or two, I'll ring you and if you can express post-"

"I can't mail a flat's worth of furnishings via overnight post!" Giles cried.

"I don't want you to." Wesley considered what he'd need, then spoke once more. "Send roughly whatever fits in the trunk and backseat of that car. Weapons, books, talismans, things for reading portents, anything you'd take if you were starting over as a Watcher."

Giles mentally started putting the flat into boxes, figuring he'd have to ask their little band of friends to help him pre-sort, and pre-pack everything, then he'd take the boxes to be shipped, so only he would know Wesley's location. "Right, I'll get to work on it."

"A few clothes as well. Practical ones. Oh, and any mail I've received by then. Everything else you can keep. Use if you like. Sell if you don't. It'll pay for the shipping."

"Wesley..."

"I don't need that anymore." Wesley was firm. "I don't need the suits and the handkerchiefs. I don't need my cufflinks or my tea service. I just need to keep her alive."

* * *

He checked on her again, needing a break between the call he'd just made, and the far more daunting one he had to make next.

She slumbered on. He began to fear she'd slipped back into a coma, but then he heard her mumbling. That was good enough for now.

* * *

"May I speak to Mr. Fallows, please?"

"Mr. Fallows is closing a session of the full board."

"It's Wyndham- Pryce."

A pause, a rustle of paper. "I'll connect you."

* * *

"Good heavens, man, I've been trying to get hold of you for two days!" Fallows greeted Wesley heartily. "I thought you'd be champing at the bit for news of the trial, but I suppose Rupert...?"

"Yes, he told me. Travers is- is no longer with us?"

"Not in the fullest sense of the word. We've still treated him as though he's high risk, put him in a secure location, some of our best men keeping watch on him, no outside visitors, all items going in and out thoroughly warded. Council's best physicians have looked him over." Fallows harrumphed, clearing his throat of emotion. "They don't think he'll last long in this state." It was tragic. Once such a great man. Or at least wearing the guise of greatness. "Ah well. New blood. Young chaps like you, Pryce. Honest, acting in the interests of the Council, rather than your own."

Wesley's fingers tightened on the receiver. _No. Not so. Not any longer._ "Sir-"

"We voted, the full board. Did Giles tell you he's reassigned to Ms. Summers?"

"Yes, he did. He mentioned things had been handled very fairly for all, Sir."

"We are trying. What a ghastly stain on all of us." Fallows allowed himself a sigh. "I imagine you're wondering what decisions we came to regarding your position."

Wesley hadn't been thinking for his own well being much lately, and it suddenly came rushing back to him. _Father wanted me removed. Father's certainly powerful enough to demand it and have the board listen to him._ "Yes. I imagine I was." He murmured softly.

"You'll stay on, of course. After all you and Giles did, there's no question you have our gratitude and our respect, it's only a matter of- heavens, Pryce, what was that?"

"That" was the sound of Wesley falling onto the edge of the bed in shock, not landing solidly, sliding off it, and taking out the ugly green pastel lamp with the phone cord as he pulled it down with him.

"Nothing, Sir, nothing." _Only my utter and complete shock_. "I- I am- thank you." He concluded hoarsely.

"Not at all, not at all. As I was saying, you did want another Slayer, and as Rupert Giles is back with Ms. Summers, which seems to be a legendarily good fit, old man, you're rather without a horse for this race."

"What about Faith? I mean, Ms. Lehane?" He asked hastily.

"There's a spot of bother about that."

"Is there?" Wesley's voice went flinty, though it was still quiet.

Fallows sighed. "She's in a coma. She should be dead, a fall like that, a massive stab wound, blood loss, head trauma, broken bones- she fell off a building didn't she?"

"She did. Yes." Wesley confirmed.

"She survives by reason of slayer strength, but I don't think she's healed. Or is likely to. If she does awaken, who knows how dangerous she'll be. I wouldn't ask you to sit there, waiting for that moment, Wesley. There's a young woman in Blackpool, nineteen. Just identified as a potential."

Things in Wesley's brain refused to add up. "But- Faith is the Slayer. A Slayer. Am I no longer considered worthy of an active position?" _Do I care? _

_ Hmm. Not really. _

"Don't talk rubbish! Of course you are! And we would respect your decision to stay with her until... well until Lehane's time comes. And then, we'll find you a new potential." Fallows said with unusual kindness and gentleness.

Wesley gambled. He risked. He wouldn't back down, cowed by the glory and the respect from one he craved approval from, not this time. "Is she in any trouble with the Council? She did go rogue."

"Well, after her injuries... People do have life-altering moments, should she ever regain consciousness, she'd have to be re-evaluated. She's not the first Slayer to misuse her strength, accidentally or purposefully. At the beginning, she must be given constant supervision by a Watcher, of course, to insure she's not a threat. The decisions would follow from there." Fallows made a pondering sound and shook his head. "Frankly, that's not a task I'd relish. She attacked Ms. Summers and her friends, did she not? She could turn on people at any time."

"I'll take the chance." Wesley blurted before he could stop himself. "I'll stay with her."

Fallows was flummoxed, but agreeable. "As you wish. You'll need to send reports of any improvements, should there be any, and also, we should discuss-"

"She's awake. She was Travers' second target. The nurse they have in Sunnydale, in custody, was a Watcher he hand picked. I walked in on her trying to kill Lehane, and I knocked her out, took Lehane from the hospital and ran with her. She's alive. She's not well, but she's awake, talking, beginning to move."

It was Fallows turn to nearly drop the receiver in complete consternation. "What?"

"You can't ask Travers, but you can ask the nurse. I know the Council has ways of getting our operatives back to headquarters, no matter where they are. This woman is in jail in Sunnydale. Rupert Giles will confirm it. It's just been on the local news. Get her on the phone, get her in your custody, and ask her. About her orders that is. Ask her about why she'd removed all of Faith's life support. Why she'd torn out her IV, and what was in the syringe she was about to inject into her arm."

"Good Lord. Hold on, Pryce." Fallows switched lines on his phone and tersely ordered, "Get me the Sunnydale Chief of Police as soon as you can." He listened to the reply and then demanded, "Sunnydale where? The Hellmouth, you twit! In California! Honestly, who do we have working the phones this afternoon?" He transferred back to Wesley with an agitated noise. "That changes everything."

Wesley tensed, about to wait, then plowed on. "No, it doesn't. Not really. Lehane is a Slayer. I am the Watcher on record, and I will remain so. Only- yes, there is something significant to change."

Fallows was too much in shock to register that Wyndham-Pryce seemed very different during this conversation, and markedly different from the man his father had urged them to remove from the rolls. "What change?"

"She's the Slayer. I'm the Watcher. But she won't be working for you. For anyone. She's too weak to battle, and when she's well, I can't promise you that she'd fit the rules of the Slayer Handbook." _None of them should have to. Not one, except for a few simple ones. Fight evil. Learn to trust your Watcher, even if he has to earn it twice._

"I don't understand. You just said you chose to be her Watcher!"

"And I do! And as she no longer works for you, then- hrm." The hardest words he'd ever heard himself say, going against centuries of breeding and training, and all his family and fatherly wishes. "Then I no longer work for the Council. I resign."

* * *

Wesley, for all his bravery of late, felt like he was about to pass out, the room seeming to swirl in blackness, the only solid thing being the receiver clenched in his fist. Everything he'd trained for, family honor, personal aspirations, a career that he had so passionately believed in, finally earning the respect of his peers- and he was throwing it away for a girl who might suddenly decide to slit his throat in the night.

"I'm afraid we can't allow that." Fallows grave voice argued.

He wanted to cheer. But he didn't. "I don't believe it's your position to allow it. You can't force her to obey orders, and Ms. Summers' example should be fresh in your mind. She's not even able at this moment, I-"

"We cannot allow you to resign. You're still with your Slayer. She obviously needs you."

"We need each other, Sir." Wesley declared.

_What is it with these two? First Giles, then Wyndham-Pryce? Hearts on their sleeves, both of them, although in very different ways. _"You and Ms. Lehane will remain in our books. I will list you both as 'Indefinitely rehabilitating'. While you choose to work with her, you cannot accept another potential, or she another Watcher."

Wesley gawked. "I've never heard of- can you- can you even do that?" He was reduced to stammering.

"I'm the Head of the Council. And apparently, a damn sight better than the last one, so they can argue with me all they like. We'd be fools to lose you on something so uncertain at this time."

_But they need to lose me. We need to lose them. We cannot be under their rule, under their influence, even if it's much less than we expected. _"I'm sorry. I cannot see Ms. Lehane agreeing to that arrangement, and as her Watcher, I'd support her."

"You misunderstand. You will not 'work' for this Council. Nor will you be barred from it, or removed. You remain, let's say, a possibility. You will not be bound to us, or under our protection. You will not have your pay, your diplomatic privileges, or a sponsored visa. On the other side of the issue, you will not be hunted down and questioned, unless Lehane harms innocents intentionally, or aligns herself with dark forces. All I'm offering you is the chance to come back. If both of you ever decide you wish to align yourselves with this Council again, you let us know." There was silence across the ocean, and Fallows grew impatient. "I risked everything in listening to you once, and I'm risking a lot to listen to you again. Will you do me the small courtesy of not completely obliterating yourself from the possibility of being reinstated with the Council someday, even if you refuse to work for us now, for the foreseeable future?"

Wesley's mind worked much faster than his mouth could process thoughts into words. "We receive nothing? We will owe you nothing?"

"Yes."

"I accept your terms." He sighed shakily, but silently. "Thank you, Sir."

"Wesley- we're not all like Travers." Fallows reminded him as the younger man began to hang up.

"No, Sir. Thank God we're not." He placed the phone gently back in its cradle now speaking to himself. "But I wanted to be, once. Just like him."

_Never again._

* * *

With new found determination, he showered and shaved, forced himself into one of his new outfits and into Faith's room.

He must've been louder this time, caution thrown to the wind, because she opened her eyes, gasped, and tried to sit up. She was partially successful.

"Barge in much?" Faith demanded, fury in her eyes.

"Not much, no." Wesley smiled briefly, and waited inside the threshold. "May I come in?"

"You'd better. I have to pee." Faith realized with a seriously "frustrated with life" look, and held out her arms.

"Ah. Yes. Coming." He hurried to her side.

"Man, this is getting so old, so fast." Faith's spindly legs didn't support her, but he did, as he helped her to the restroom, then shut the door and paced the bedroom.

"I'll toss your clothes in, if you'd like." He called after a few minutes.

"Thanks, kick 'em in." Faith called back. He obeyed, nudging them through a sliver in the door.

Another few minutes pacing. "Hrm. Are you alright?"

Faith wanted to punch him. Wanted to kill him. Kill all of them. Even herself. _I was the major bad ass. I was fast, strong, and everyone knew it. I had this body. This was my weapon._ Even her tattoo seemed slightly shriveled over wizened muscle. "No. No, I'm not fucking 'alright'. I can get down, but not back up." Yesterday she'd used the sink as support and been sitting, wrapped up and waiting for him. Today she'd put on her pants and socks- and nearly passed out doing it, and now remained sprawled on the tile, arms unable to pull herself into a sitting position again.

Wesley entered slowly, cautiously. "Oh dear." He saw her on the ground, and rushed to help her up. "Did you fall?"

"No! I didn't even stand in the first place." Her molten mocha eyes suddenly seared his as they stood. "How long am I going to be like this? I _can't_ live, can't _stay_ like this!" There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. Like this- she wasn't predator anymore. She was prey. She'd been prey too many times in her life already, and the thought of going back to that terrified her so badly she couldn't completely mask it.

"I don't know." Wesley kept his eyes entwined with hers, refusing to back down from her scalding gaze. "Three days ago you were unconscious. Two days ago I had to put you in a wheel chair. Yesterday you couldn't sit up alone. Today you dressed yourself. You _will_ get better. You already are."

Was it his imagination, or did the arm around his waist suddenly bend in slightly, holding him tighter? Maybe a spasm of relief. Maybe just a spasm, full stop.

Faith tossed her hair- well, semi-tossed. More like she forgot she couldn't, and her hair fell riotously over one side of her face. "Right. So. Why the hustle in your bustle this morning, Jeeves?"

Wesley led her to the bedroom and sat her in the desk chair. He smoothed her hair back without thinking twice. He proceeded to slide her shoes on her feet automatically as well. "I've just spoken to Giles, and to Fallows."

"Who?"

"The new, not corrupt person in charge of the Council." Faith snorted. "At least one hopes." Wesley admitted he also felt pervasive cynicism as well.

"And what's the what? Are we target practice?"

"Far from it. We are simply given leave to recuperate at this time."

"Leave to- sick leave? Dude, I'm not on sick leave- well, I would be- but I am just not doing this 'organized slaying' thing anymore." Faith reminded him. "I keep saying this, do you just not _hear me_?"

"I keep listening. Which is why I was extremely clear about neither of us working for the Council anymore. Effective immediately. But, as we're both still alive, which is not usually the case when a Slayer stops performing her duties, we're simply marked down as 'rehabilitating'. Not furloughed, not fired, not absent without leave, nothing. We're simply a footnote in the records right now." That was all he wanted to tell her at the moment, and she must have been able to read that, or she wanted clarification on the next subject even more.

"No more sneak attacks? I'm off their hit list?"

_As long as I watch you, yes. As long as you don't kill again, yes._ "We're not in any danger. Not directly." Again, more to tell her, but he didn't want to, not just yet. He refused to lie to her, but he also refused to create more rifts than he could mend at once. _I'm already losing that battle. We're both a mass of tears, hers are just more visible._ "We have pressing matters to attend to, all the same. We need to leave." _Just in case. They could trace that call. _

Faith smiled knowingly. "You don't trust them completely, do you?"

Wesley finished tying the last lace. "I think I'd rather be safe."

"Something we actually agree about." Faith let her head fall to the side to watch him as he stood and began moving about the room. "We're leaving right now?"

"We are."

"Any ideas where we're going?"

"None. Someplace far away from here, and safe enough to stay for a week or two at a time."

"Stay put for a week?" Running sounded better.

"You need time to recuperate. To not spend sixteen hours a day in a car, so you actually use your leg muscles and- all of your muscles, really."

Which made sense. "I guess."

"Do you have anywhere you want to go?"

There was no home. There was no Sunnydale, not for her. "Far away." Faith said simply.

"Right." He finished throwing her things in a plastic bag in a mere minute, not having much to take. "I'll grab my things and we'll be ready in a moment."

"Whoa, whoa." Faith cried. "That's it? 'We're leaving, we're moving'?"

Wesley looked over his rims at her. "Are you actually complaining about my lack of planning?" He asked with mild humor.

"Maybe there was acid in my IV bag, I don't know." Faith realized just how wrong that sounded. "I don't give a rat's ass for planning. Plotting, maybe..."

"But when you're not in control of the lack of planning, it bothers you?" He guessed correctly.

_Grr._ Poindexter- okay, Poindexter slash James Bond was being really annoying lately, with the trying to get into her head. "Nah. Screw it. I was just surprised you could unbunch your panties that much to actually 'go with the flow'."

Wesley flushed slightly. "Yes. Surprise myself at times."

_Damn him._ Could not get him to unleash on her. She didn't know how to respond to that. Fortunately, she didn't have to.

"I figured we would sort out the details- the destination, other matters," _what a nice, convenient catch-all_, "certain decisions, as we drove. If you agree?"

"Don't really have a lot of choices." Faith smiled bitterly.

_Damn her._ _I bend and I give, and she stays as she is. _Warning bells rang in his mind_. Get out now, Wesley. This is a fool's errand..._

_ Then I guess I'm a fool. I have been before, for far less. _ "You're right. You don't. This is our life, not a bloody Baskin Robbins." He gave her an equally hard half-grin.

_Our life._ The words shocked her. How long since she believed someone would willingly sink or swim with her?

Never.

"Now, I could go for a little Baskin Robbins action. I'm all about the different flavors." She lifted her arm, and this time there was no hiding the fact that is shook with weakness, trembling more pronounced every second she held out her hand to him. "I guess I'm going your way." She allowed a hint of dark flirtatiousness into her tone.

He pulled her up, hand locked under hers. "We're simply going together."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Dedicated to: Helenluvsboo, Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, kerry,220, jewel74, Sirius120, mike13z50, Jinxgirl, Naomi, and Kathryn Merlin. Thank you helping me with your support as I write these characters for the first time!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part III**

_Pathways_

Faith watched the horizon, the side of the road, all flashing by, anything not to watch him.

He risked glances at her every now and then. She was awake this time, not drifting in and out of sleep as she had been during their first long journey.

_How is it that two people who couldn't be in the same room without threats or orders flying only a few months ago, are now stuck in six feet of space, with no one but each other for conversation?_

_ Or utter silence, as it turns out._

"Would you like to stop soon?" Wesley asked as they passed yet another in a string of seemingly endless highway signs.

"That sign said 'Next Exit Forty Miles'. Unless you step on it- there's no 'soon'." Faith said carelessly through pale, pouted lips.

Wesley's grip tightened, and his foot pressed down firmly- and didn't let up.

Faith's eyes widened and she went to push herself up, brace herself as the speedometer climbed- but she couldn't. The car accelerated and Wesley made a frustrated noise so low that an ordinary passenger wouldn't have heard it. He narrowly passed another car that was doing the speed limit, sending Faith slamming sideways into the door.

Faith gasped. He cursed softly, "Damn it all!", and slowed, reaching over to help her center herself.

"Shit, Dude." She laughed once, half amused, half worried. "Forget what side of the road you're on?"

He winced in his head, and a little bit in the shoulders. "I'm sorry. That was childish."

It flowed easily, suddenly. "Don't be sorry. Childish is okay." Her head lolled back, eyes closing.

He looked over at her. Without the dark eye make up, the black cherry lipstick, she actually seemed far from youthful, far from childish. _So young, and so old._ _How very absurd we are. Everyone called me a mere boy among learned men, green, untried- and I came to her full of age old wisdom ready to impart...That went so very well._

"I don't think I was ever much of a child." Wesley mused aloud.

"I didn't figure." Faith snorted. "Were you born in a suit?"

"I had tweed nappies." He smirked.

Faith's eyes opened. "Did you just make a _joke_?"

"Did I?" He was openly incredulous.

"Could be the head injury talkin'." She admitted.

"Let's hope not." He looked at her worriedly.

"You can stop doing that. That thing. Where you look at me like I'll break."

_You've been broken._ But that would earn him a punch in the face or, in her state, she might just pitch sideways and head butt him. "I'll see if I can manage it." He said stiffly.

Faith wanted to kick him, but she couldn't. _Two seconds of him loosening up, and now he's back to Mr. Stick. I don't need that. Don't need it, never needed it._ "Yeah, well... I got scraped up all the time. I'm a Slayer. I'm gonna be fine. Not like anyone ever cared if I got hurt. No one has to care now."

He gave her a long sideways look. "And if someone does?"

She didn't look at him at all. "They'll wise up. Pretty damn quick, too."

_Rejected again. _

He fixed his eyes back on the road. _I don't suppose anything I've ever offered up was good enough. _Disapproving father, teachers who pushed, his best efforts, a father's indifferent attitude. Later, a slayer, not one, but two, openly mocking. A colleague, openly hostile.

Wesley swallowed._ Why should I be surprised it's not good enough for her?_

* * *

He stopped when they hit the next exit, out of sheer "in a car for hours" claustrophobia, sure she must be feeling it worse, having less movement in her own body, not just surroundings. "I'll take you around the place for a walk."

_He'll _take_ me? Like I'm an arthritic old granny?_ "I'm fine." She lied. "Get gas and whatever." She pointedly went back to staring out the window.

* * *

He came back to the car in a few minutes, tossing something into her lap.

"Okay... I give." Faith held up the object and looked at him.

"If you won't exercise your leg muscles, at least you can begin strengthening your hands." He took it from her fingers and squeezed. "It's one of those- what do you call them? Stress toys?"

Faith took it back. A round green ball with "I Love Nevada" written on the side, and a smiling alien playing a slot machine. "Stress ball. Squeeze ball. Cute."

"It will help." He said firmly. "Now- squeeze the silly little thing, it was overpriced." He took out his other purchases, some snacks and a thick United States road atlas, and arranged the one in his lap, and the others between them.

Faith squeezed. Her finger muscles ached instantly. "Holy crap, am I outta shape!"

"You're not out of shape, your muscles have simply- gone into hibernation. This should help your hands and arms wake back up. The flexor and tensor muscles-" He began speaking, in a starchy "I am full of knowledge" voice that Faith tuned out.

She didn't realize that he'd stopped talking for several seconds. "Uh. Sure. Wow. You know a lot about - stuff."

He nearly preened- then stopped. "Watchers take anatomy courses. We learn to treat wounds and train the body." He said simply, and started the car, drove a few feet, then stopped it with a jerk.

"Problem?" Faith asked as she pitched forward a few inches.

"Yes... hang on..." He rustled through the atlas, looked up at the highway signs looming offside the rest stop, rustled and flipped again, back at the highway sign, then squinting down at the map.

"Wes! What the the hell?" Faith finally burst out impatiently.

"I'm trying to find where we are so I'll know how to get where we're going!" He picked up the atlas and folded back a page.

"I thought you didn't have a place in mind."

"I don't." He shook his head slightly, frowning at the sea of tiny red lines.

Faith's arm made a lunging flail, knocking the atlas back into his lap.

"I say!" _I'm beginning to wish she was immobile again..._

"Hey, squeezy toy works." Faith smiled snarkily. "If you don't have a place in mind, just drive."

He considered. He picked the book up, he put it back down, then shook his head firmly. "No. I can't do that. I don't care where but I need... something to aim for." He flipped to the back and held it out to her. "Here. Just pick a town."

Faith stared at the index. "I don't know these places!"

"Nor do I, and it doesn't really matter. Just point!"

She jabbed. "Felton, Kansas."

"Fine, Felton, Kansas. I-"

"I don't want to go to Kansas. I've seen the Wizard of Oz." She jabbed again. "Fairville, Colorado. No. No, see that's like Sunny-" She stopped speaking abruptly. _Nice places, with nice names, weren't so nice. Nowhere is nice for miserable little dupes like me. Even a Hellmouth when I'm bad, or happy 'Sunnydale' when I' m good. It's all a crapshoot. _

"Faith, I-" His eyes softened and he gently reached for the atlas.

A horn blared long and loud, making him jump and her thrash her head to the side to look at her mirror.

"Buddy, you're blocking the diesel, let's go!" A man leaning out of the cab of a truck impatiently thumped the horn again, waving Wesley on.

Wesley looked around the place he'd unthinkingly stopped the car. "I am? Oh, I am! My apologies, Sir!" He shouted back and waved politely

Faith flipped the driver off out of her window.

"Hey! You wanna make something of this?" The driver caught the gesture.

"Pardon me?"

"Very funny. You wanna-"

Faith hissed, "Drive, Wes."

"What?" Wesley hadn't seen what she did. He now saw her hand retract through the open window.

"Drive, _now_!" Faith yelled.

Wesley glanced back at the truck behind him- at the_ line_ of trucks behind him! He saw cab doors opening down the line. "Oh dear." He jammed the car into drive, and peeled from the rest stop, "Oh dear. Oh _dear_..."

The car careened back onto the highway, with Wesley sweating and staring in the rearview mirror. "Why did you do that?" He demanded in a gasp.

"I don't put up with crap like that, okay?"

"I was in the wrong!" Wesley exclaimed. "And he wouldn't have gotten so upset if you hadn't - made gestures at him." He rebuked stiffly.

"No one messes with me." Faith maintained hotly.

He shook his head, eyes rolling to heaven as he decided not to answer and point out the flaws in that logic and this situation. "Well, now I've no idea where we're going." He sniped crossly.

"You didn't have any idea twenty minutes ago either, and it didn't matter."

"You didn't like not having a plan!" He paused. "That sounded wrong. Just a moment-"

Faith rolled her eyes now. Eff the grammar. "No- I don't like playing in your sandbox, where _you_ make all the plans!" Not strictly true. His plans would have matched hers- get the hell away, stay alive. She didn't like being forced to follow someone else's plans, in general, forced to obey a rule she didn't make, forced to let someone else make your choices. Powerless.

Wesley spluttered. Was everything he attempted with her doomed to be so terribly wrong footed? "It wasn't going to be my plan, your plan, much of a plan at all! I asked you to pick a town, nothing more than a random selection. That was all I wanted."

"You- oh my God, man, you-" Faith broke off, too frustrated to explain. Her arm lifted- more easily each time- and pointed to the signs over the highway. "You want a direction? Head east, okay?"

He swerved into the eastbound lane, earning a chorus of squeals and horns. Accelerating once again to clear the lane he'd just thrown himself into, he watched the road divide. The west seemed literally cut off, swallowed up by concrete dividers. Everything fell away, flattened out in front.

He sighed and drove.

* * *

Ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour- Faith discovered she really didn't like having no one to talk to, not if someone was available. She used to be such a loner.

_Another thing the Scooby gang ruined for me. Big, tough, badass- but I'm such a people person, _the voice in her head became sarcastically sugary at the allowed herself a humorless, mocking smile.

Wesley relaxed- sort of. Temporarily, at least. "You know, I never knew what it felt like just to drive, not having to be someplace, no directions." He mused reflectively.

Faith stared, trying not to show her relief that there was something to break the silence. "Never woulda guessed." She said dryly.

"I'm very methodical." He mirrored a smile she'd had a moment ago, being honest with yourself, and wishing you weren't.

"You'll get used to it." She leaned back as best she could, and worked the little stress ball in her weak hands.

"You'd know."

"I'm an expert. Been doing this since I was ten. Just going where - I go." _Where they put me. Told me to. Made me._ The ball's seams swelled suddenly, knuckles went white.

He scanned his brain, going over the mental dossier he had on this slayer- then threw it out._ It's words and facts. Soulless. Not really her. _"What happened then?"

"They put me in foster care. Mom's drinking was too much for the neighbors to ignore anymore. Well, for _school_ to ignore."

He wanted to express sympathy- but had the idea showing pity earned him a stress ball to the right temple at high speeds.

Faith hated talking about her life. But she hated thinking about it pointlessly inside her head even more. Unable to halt it, she spoke, hands kneading and twisting. "Guess that's one reason I'm not too big on book smarts. They acted like I couldn't take care of myself. That's major stupidity." She snorted, and her eyes sparked. "Mom was passed out most of the time, Dad was gone- damn, I was the _head _of that house. Well- crummy apartment. I took care of everything. They didn't need to come in there!"

Wesley's compassion over ruled his self preservation. "Surely they were only concerned for a child?"

"Child nothing! If they were concerned they would have helped her, kept us together, not just shipped me off." She swallowed sudden bitter salt rising in the back of her throat. Tears. Her mom hadn't cared when she left. _She hugged that bottle of booze to her chest- not me. They couldn't pry that out of her hands, but her only child? Nah. _

Something niggled in his brain. _Wasn't her father deceased? Did she mean gone as in dead, or gone as in absent? _"Your father wasn't an option?"

"They don't like kids in prison." Faith uttered a choked sound that might've been a laugh. "I thought he was dead. I mean- Mom said he was. Then somebody at social services said he was locked up and 'not a viable placement option'. Everyone told me different things. Someone said he killed a guy in a bar fight. Someone said he robbed a Gas'N'Go, blew the manager's face off. Who knows? Some kind of murderer." The lips that were betraying her with all this sharing betrayed her again with a small, tensed quiver. "Like father like daughter, huh?"

"God I hope not." Wesley whispered vehemently.

Faith was offended, shocked. This was a good guy! Good guys tear up when you share the sob story! "Screw you then, you probably already knew that. Knew he died, knew she died, too. Buried in the state cemetery where they put you if you can't pay for a fancy box."

"Oh, no. No!" Wesley reached for her hand and instead rerouted his errant touch to adjust a mirror. "No, not _your_ father. Though that is terrible and I am truly sorry, whether you care for my sympathy or not." He swallowed. "No. I was thinking of something else. Go on."

Faith raised her eyebrow. "More about me being a murderer?"

His fingers tightened on the wheel. "If you wish."

She considered. "Yeah. I wish. You saved me from psycho nurse lady. You're doing this big rescue, keeping me off the menu for the hit men, if there are any left." She gave him an appraising look. "You do all this- and you never mentioned the part where I _killed people_." Her lips pursed and quirked. "Slip your mind? It wasn't just one accident. I killed two humans. I coulda killed more."

Wesley's narrow lips pressed together, moistening them as they'd gone dry. "We've all done things we wish we hadn't. Wouldn't do again... Done for reasons we didn't dream could ever happen. Events that set things in motion..."

"Not everyone commits murder."

Wesley licked his lips again. In his mind he saw a sudden flash of tweed waistcoat and rolled white sleeve, a sword through the heart of the Mayor. Not an ordinary human, but still human. Giles stabbed him cleanly, to kill, when he threatened Buffy.

_If that nurse had been holding on a gun on Faith, and I'd had one in my hand... would I have pulled the trigger? _

_ I might have wounded, not killed her. _

_ I just as easily might have._

Wesley shook his head. There was defense of the innocent, and then there was turning to the darkness and acting as one of its arms.

"I think what happened was terrible. What you did- when you knowingly took an innocent life, whatever the reasons around it, I think it was horrible. Robbing a human of life when it's no threat to you, Faith, that is where human and demon meet."

Faith knew that. She knew it, and she'd felt it when she'd accidentally killed that man, the deputy mayor. It didn't have to be on purpose, it was just the action that opened the door. It made her begin to see what others always said. She was a bad seed, had bad blood. So she wasn't a demon. _You can't beat 'em, not all the time. Some nights, maybe you join 'em._

It was easy to join, much easier than she'd thought it would be. Darkness came in, got comfy, battled around with the light sometimes, but evil had its own pretty perks. Hate and evil aren't so hard to live with once you stop worrying about what your friends think. When you stop wishing you were something else and just give in. When you stop trying.

Now, admit it or not, she was trying again, caring again, and his words stung. True or not, they stung.

"So I'm part demon, or as good as?"

"Not at all. It is just that you've killed, and you've seen that darkness."

"Maybe."

"Maybe."

"So... why save me then?"

"It's _one _thing you've done. Only one." _She's saved hundreds. She has. Every vampire or demon she killed saved all its future victims._

"And if it's just one little boo boo, you do what? You can just forget about it?" Faith challenged. _C'mon Straight-Laced, end this game, realize what you've got in the car, realize you can't hack this. You're one of the good ones. You can't overlook it. No way in hell you just "forget about it"._

The car slowed in a band of traffic, and Wesley tore his eyes from the road, startled to see hers watching. He gave her a very long, solemn look, before he spoke in a soft, unshaken voice. "No. I won't forget it. But it's something that is part of you. My duty is not simply to the part that is 'good', and 'obedient'."

Faith's eyebrows kissed her hairline in surprise. "You sure about that?"

"Very." He was sure of that. A Watcher's duty is to his Slayer. The end.

She was less certain. "I might be kinda fuzzy, with the cracked skull and stuff, but I seem to remember that's not how it went down. I don't know what the hell kind of partying happened when I was doing my Sleeping Beauty thing, I know things changed- but I am _damn_ sure 'My duty is to the bad, not just the good' is _not _what the Council told you to say. Or do. Whatever." She hated being played with, and this- this was a long, sick game. Anger churned around in her, making her already delicate system throb and pulse. "I might buy the fact you don't want me to die, but you standing with me, instead of your precious teapot and scone society? No way. You love that Council, you're _Mister_ Council. I thought you were their golden boy."

Wesley could have torn his hair out. Or hers. How often did he have to say it, explain it, show it, prove it?

_As often as it takes._

A prim inner voice piped up, "_Why are you so surprised she doubts you? Didn't you all but lick their boots? Didn't you grow up, worshiping that entire body of elite, secretly powerful men and women? Didn't your father tell you from infancy you would be a Watcher or nothing? Or, through some patriarchal slip up- a Watcher, and _still _nothing? _

_ You craved every accolade, Head Boy, appointed to an active Slayer, then two!_

_ Everything you ever wanted." _

_Everything _Father _ever wanted._ _Never seemed too happy when he got it, though. _

Faith felt smug being right, as he obviously was silenced, not knowing what to say to her accusations. She also felt empty. This had been a new guy in a familiar face. _Which is why you get kicked when you're down, if you're stupid enough to trust people. _

Wesley's internal struggle kept going, a thousand thoughts in a few seconds, but too long to be a natural pause in the conversation.

New leadership or not, it didn't change the lessons they drilled into their young men and women, leaving them to experience the harsh realities and lessons that could only be learned on the bloodied field.

_Your Slayer is your first priority. Your first duty. Everything is second. _

Wesley finally answered her with simple steel in his tone. "Fuck the Council."

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Picks up directly from the preceding chapter. Bear with me as we deal with these two discussing some issues in their own "I have trouble communicating" ways. Picture two people who have no promising past history, who barely know each other, suddenly stuck in a car for hours, after effectively cutting off almost all ties with the rest of the world. Things will pick up next chapter. _

_Author's second note: Quotes from season three are used in this chapter. _

_Dedicated to: Helenluvsboo, Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, kerry220, mike13z50, and Jinxgirl. You guys rock!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part IV**

_Pathways _

Faith was startled into momentary feelings of agreement and even appreciation at his sudden declaration. _But people can say anything. It's what they do that counts. Saying and doing with this guy seemed pretty consistent- starting now. Not from before._

"Okay then." Faith nodded, crossing her arms. "I'm with you on that."

Wesley nodded firmly, slowly, several times, as though he was still trying to understand what he'd just said, and if he really meant it. In this case, yes.

"Um." Faith fumbled with a bag of trail mix he'd purchased for her. High protein, healthy crap. T_rying to help you get better._ She wouldn't say it was her heart or any mushy shit like that, but something warmed slightly. "You- uh- you traveled much in the States?"

"No, I haven't." Wesley almost gave her a huge, "Thank you for talking to me like a decent human being!" smile, but quashed it. "I attended the Academy, and then University, and then was back at the Council for just a few months before they sent me here. To California. I'd been to New York once. My plane landed in Philadelphia for my connecting flight. Other than that..."

"So you have no idea where we're going? For real. Like, not even a state to state basic idea." She dragged the road map clumsily from his leg to hers. "How much longer do you want to keep driving?" _See? This is me not being a total bitch. Willing to play nice when it's worth it. I'm pretty much dead in the water, so him driving, buying what we need, and footing my hotel bill- that's worth tossing him a crumb. Right? _

Faith refused to admit that all those things she just listed- those were crumbs, more than crumbs, that he was tossing her.

"I- I honestly don't know." He realized. "I'd thought, until I was sure we weren't being followed, and now I'm fairly certain we're not."

"We're not just on a never ending road trip, are we? 'Cause if we are- I prefer Harleys." Faith was flipping through the atlas.

"I don't think so. I- suppose we would find someplace to settle down, eventually."

"Settle down?" Alarm bells went screaming through her head.

"No. Wrong words. Ah- come to rest?" He tried.

"Look, I tried having a home. I mean- a hometown." She hastily corrected. "I don't do that. I _can't _do that. Places go sour on me. Seems like six months is the max before-" Faith risked a sidelong glance at him, "things change in a bad way."

"I see." He watched her flipping through the index, turning back to consult some section in the middle. "A week or two, a month or two? Do you suppose places would 'change for the bad' that quickly?"

"I don't know." She lifted her shoulders carelessly. Hard to know what's 'bad' when you don't what you even think is bad anymore. And when she was better- she'd be gone. Or he would. Watcher-smatcher, Council, no Council, people didn't stick together. Not if she was part of the "together".

"Well..." Wesley put on his best cheerfully resolute face. "I only need to stop for a week, perhaps even less. I simply need some things shipped out to me. Books. Weaponry. Basic 'Watcher' supplies." Her face darkened at the words, and he hastily moved added, "A few clothes and any important papers I've left lying around the place. I told Giles, only what could comfortably fit in this car."

"Yeah. Good. Travel light."

_How had the shield gone back up so quickly? Or should I just be grateful it comes down at all, even if it's only a second here or there? "_Would there be... is there anything you left behind that you wanted?"

Some hibernating part of her psyche woke up, spiraled, unleashing something she'd purposefully not thought about, or been too busy to think about in all the turmoil of waking up from being almost dead, to find herself on the other side of about to die, and now running for her life.

"Yeah. There was something I wanted. I don't think you can send it." Faith muttered, half to herself, eyes becoming glassy and distant.

Wesley cocked his head. He didn't suppose the lease on her apartment was still good, he didn't even know if the apartment was still intact. Did a semi-mortal mayor with demonic ties to his power lose his assets upon failure to ascend? Who knows. Still, if the building was there, and new tenants hadn't moved in, he thought he might know someone willing to retrieve a few items. "Perhaps not. I'd like to try to get it for you, if it's something you need, or want. Would it fit in the car?"

Faith's eyes traveled to the rearview mirror, looking at the empty backseat. A transparent figure, a genial smiling face, politically proper suit and old-dude hair. A strangely polite but desperately evil person sprang from her imagination and filled a void she pretended didn't exist.

"That's my girl." Imaginary Wilkins beamed paternally on her. "You still have room for me, don't you, Pumpkin?"

"Faith? Would it fit in the backseat?"

"He would." Her eyes sparkled dangerously as they left her melancholy imagination and forced themselves back to the present. "If Buffy hadn't killed him."

_Oh dear._

"How'd she do it anyway? How'd he die?"

"Like a demon. Roasting in his own hellfire." Wesley had no sympathy for the mayor- but he had sympathy for her. "And no, he wouldn't have fit in the backseat. Before graduation was even done, he'd changed. Pure demon. The size of a building. A giant, murderous snake, who killed a dozen helpless teenagers before we blew the school up- with him inside."

Faith's fists clenched and trembled. "You tryin' to piss me off?"

"He was evil, Faith. He wasn't human anymore, and he was slaughtering humans. You can be as 'pissed off' as you like. I'm quite angry myself, though with him, not anyone else."

Anger gave her strength, but not much. She did manage to sit up straighter in the seat, turn herself slightly to the side, so the chocolate fury in her eyes could scorch him, scare him. "You watch what you say, Wesley. You know, he might've been evil- but he was the only person I've ever met who- who knew how to treat people." Faith swallowed a hard, hot ball forming in her throat.

Wesley's mind whirled with the inaccuracy of that statement. Hadn't they all tried to befriend her, to help her, to - to tame her. "The only person who treated you as you wanted to be treated?"

"Stop that psychologist crap where you turn what I say into what you want me to say!"

"I was only trying to-"

"To get it? Well, you can't get it. Okay? Get _that_!" Another frantic panting and pushing and she was sitting with her back against the glass of the window, bracing her elbows on the seat back and the dashboard, ready to throw herself at him, not caring if she'd succeed, not caring if hurting him would wreck the car, hurting her, too. Just ready to unleash the rage bottled up in her.

Wesley began looking for a place to pull off, but they were on long stretches of interstate, nothing but other cars and concrete, no lay by in sight. "Faith, you need to-"

"_You_ need to get it in your head that you 'good guys' are good 'cause you have it easy. You have someone there, holding your hand, taking care of you, helping you... it's easy to be perfect when life is perfect! And don't give me B's sob story over Angel, because that's - that's still someone in your corner when he's got it in his pants, and his soul isn't wandering around loose." Her breathing was accelerating, adrenaline coursing, in a pre-fight pattern. Brain activity spiked and delicate blood vessels that were still recovering swelled, made her dizzy, made the edges of her vision blur black. She ignored the warning signs, as she often did, and kept going, hitting with her words because her fists wouldn't do the job.

"What real life is, what the 'bad' life is? It's when you think you have to take care of yourself _all the time_- 'cause Mommy's gone, and Daddy's dead. Then you find out he's not dead, he just never came home 'cause he offed someone and he's doing his time. Mom doesn't give a damn if you're around or not. You look for someone to take care of you. Yeah. 'Cause they tell you you're little and you need that, but they take away everyone you ever knew." She wasn't crying, she was _not _crying. She was screaming. She was warning him.

"You think the next foster home will be better than the last- the first four or five times. But they never are. Maybe it's the other kids, maybe it's the 'parents'. It's always the guys, though. Not all of them want to touch you in a bad way, some of them are just jerks. Or maybe they just don't believe you can see vampires when you turn thirteen and so they lock you up, try to shrink your head. Put you in a hospital bed and the psych ward squad asks you a million questions and they all say it comes from wanting attention, wanting to live in a fantasy world because your life sucks." Faith laughed hysterically. "They're right! But adding vamps to the mix wouldn't make it better! What kind of effed up logic is that?"

"Not very good." He admitted stiffly and managed to move over a lane, one lane closer to the edge of the highway.

"So you get labeled crazy and dangerous. So you get attention, all the wrong kinds. You get bounced from place to place and you try to change yourself because obviously there's something wrong with you." For a moment Faith's tirade broke, as nagging voices whispered that indeed, something was wrong with her. She brushed them off. _Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter, because I wasn't always that way. Life made me that way. You don't get to take off points for that, 'cause I didn't do it._ "No matter what though- someone uses you. You learn to use them. And when you get used, or they do, things end, and you're_ back_ on _your own_, and you learn one really good, really hard lesson. Get used to relying on _you_. Me, myself, and I, pal."

He pulled into the shoulder, ignoring the "No stopping here" signs, and nodded. His heart and mind ached for this girl. How had her file sounded so simply dysfunctional and wild, and yet conveyed none of this pain, this passion, this struggle? Slayer's case files should be rewritten by the Watchers who serve with them, Wesley decided, as he turned off the car. He gave her his full attention.

She didn't expect that. For him to simply listen. He was the lecturing kind. The condemning kind. Or he had been.

"He didn't think there was anything wrong with me, y'know? He thought I was perfect. Just like I am. No labels. No demands. No 'I'll take care of you, Baby, but you gotta take care of me'," she laughed as she shook her head, eyes slowly focusing, "man, I even offered him that. He didn't want it. He just wanted me for what I'm good at, what I told him. When the Mayor needed someone to help take out you guys, I jumped at the chance." Fists unclenched, fingers danced nervously. "Just a job. Good boss. Revenge perks." She bit her lip. " Never figured he'd be the counting on type of guy, but he was. Until _she _killed him. Until you helped."

Wesley nodded. His part was minor, but he was proud, always would be proud, to have stood up against an insurmountable evil.

"I wake up and I'm more worried about being alive- and he's dead. He's rotting in hell. Maybe I was supposed to join him. Join both of my 'proud papas', the demon and the murderer. Apple doesn't fall from the tree, Wes." Rage left her as swiftly as it had come. It would be back. For right now she was simply struck with the thought that he was dead. All her family, and the Mayor, a sort of pseudo family, were dead. She should probably have been with them, a cosmic, karmic appointment with the eternal flames. "Apple doesn't fall far..."

"You're right." Wesley admitted in a low, gritty voice, hesitant and forced. Every word seemed to push him further down inside himself, yet he kept talking. "My father was- _is_- a very fine, upstanding man. Top of his class at Cambridge, and the Academy. Honest, reliable, thorough... He did ground breaking research into scroll restoration and he's an invaluable archivist and historian for the Council. He was made a board member when he was still in his early thirties, which is practically unheard of. Now, I, his only son, I was following in the same footsteps. Like father, like son indeed. Yet- I seemed thoroughly a failure to him."

"What now?" Faith, though she didn't like this share-a-thon, had to say something about _that_. "How could you_ not _be daddy's favorite little stuck up snot?"

"I'm puzzled as well." He said drily. "But, there you have it. As good a father as a man could wish for- on paper. Lovely home, finest education money and connections could procure, a sense of family honor, tradition, and the little luxuries in life. Yet never once did I tell him some achievement that he didn't rush to tell me how worthless it was, or that I could surely have done better." He nodded at Faith's unbelieving expression. "My father was a man I could count on, unfailingly. Count on to belittle. To order. To mock, scoff, scorn, to take everything I did and say it wasn't good enough." Wesley sighed deeply. "He also said I should be removed from the Council. Even after exposing Travers, he said I wasn't fit to remain in my post. I'm an utter bloody failure."

Privately, Faith agreed to some of that. _Guy's a total ass. But underneath- he has some brass ones. He's out here with me, which is more than the rest of the old farts do. Who's failing now? _

"Funnily enough, he was always telling me to grow up, be a man. If I disobeyed, or broke something, and I-" _Was caned. Sent to the study closet. Made to sit up all night translating passages to twelve different languages, _"I was punished for it, I wasn't allowed to cry. 'Be a man', he'd say. Funny. He still treats me like such an ignorant, wayward child, and yet I don't think... No, I don't think I got much chance to be a boy."

"Doesn't sound like it." Faith heard a lot more in the pause he made than in the honest secrets he was sharing. "You know what's funny? When you're a girl, and they're beating on you? They wanna see you cry."

"But you don't, do you?" He knew the answer.

"No. Never." She stated coldly, eyes sliding away.

He didn't either. He'd been too rigid, too devoid of that which allows you to feel enough, to let tears be created. "You're a very strong woman. Inside and out."

Her pallid cheeks suddenly flamed, either pride, or a feverish spike, she wasn't sure. "Well, not the outside... not right now. But I will be again."

"There you are, then." Wesley gingerly turned the key in the ignition, starting the motor. "Shall I?"

Nothing was resolved. Nothing was better. Each merely knew more about the screwed up-ness of the other.

"There's nothing else to do." Faith went back to a more conventional position in the passenger seat. He revved up, signaled, and made his way back into traffic.

* * *

"I still hate her. I'm not some good guy. Don't get yourself confused." Faith spent the next stretch of the car ride not talking to him. After the rush of anger wore off, the horror of opening up to, well, _anyone_, haunted her. The more they know about you, the more power they have. Best to make him aware that he shouldn't get too cocky. She might have just did a total drunken blurt minus the drunken part, but they weren't buddies.

"Pardon?" Wesley swung his head to look at her, thoroughly startled. They'd been riding along in companionable silence. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, his grandmother used to say. Bearing one another's burdens. Sharing one another's woes.

Apparently not.

"Buffy. Giles. All of them. They might be the universe's favorite people, but not mine."

"You can feel however you'd like, but all of them only ever tried to be helpful." He knew it was a mistake, that placating her, calmly, slowly, working with her, that would be the best course of action. But he'd just lived through the most harrowing, soul-changing event of his life with, and for, those people. He would be honest about them. "They're flawed, they're imperfect, and yes, quite annoying at times. But they-"

"They tried to 'reach out to me', I know the 'We tried to help her, but she's beyond help' shtick. Heard it a lot."

He paused. "Why then?"

"Do I need a reason?" Faith let out a bark of harsh laughter.

"If you don't have one, I'll make guesses." He replied truthfully. "I assume it's because she killed one demon in particular. Someone you loved."

"I didn't love him!" Faith shouted. It was true. She didn't love him, hadn't loved him. Didn't love anyone or anything outside of herself, outside of her control, really. And honestly, not even then.

"That's good. I don't think it's a good idea to love-"

"A demon? Didn't you say B was all over the undead lately?" Faith had heard snippets of the B and Bad Boy story from him during the last couple days, and she was prepared to ream him for his hypocrisy.

Wesley continued unperturbed. "I don't think it wise to love someone who only loves you provisionally. With conditions."

"Psh, Suit, that's whack._ Everyone_ makes conditions. B 'loves' Spike as long as he doesn't eat the locals. She loved Angel as long as he was in his sad puppy costume." Faith scoffed.

"Buffy loves Spike. She would have to stop him from killing innocents, if he began to do so. But should he do so, she would still love him. She would simply not be able to allow it."

"Which leads to her playing Juliet in the vamp version of Shakespeare." Faith mimed staking something and slitting her throat.

"You don't know them, what they've become. They don't know you. Sometimes there are conditions. Sometimes people change because they wish to do so, condition not required, or notwithstanding. The type of love I'm talking about is where someone agrees to give you things, treat you a certain way, because you do what they say."

Faith let her hair fall over her face, suddenly reflective, not wanting to show it.

_Everyone acts like that. _"Whatever."

Wesley gave up on discussion, and left her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

_Past_

His voice, warm and lilting, as he showed her around her new apartment. "No Slayer of mine is gonna live in a fleabag hotel. That place has a very unsavory reputation. There are immoral liaisons going on there."

_He said "mine". Like he owned me._

She remembered jumping on the bed, a new, beautiful, clean bed, that was just hers-

" Oh, hey, hey, hey! Shoes! Shoes!" A scolding fatherly voice. Standing in the doorway of her new bedroom.

Payment was probably expected. She sidled up to him, oozing sex and seduction. "Thanks, Sugar Daddy."

"Now, Faith, I don't find that sort of thing amusing. I'm a family man."

He hadn't wanted that. Nine out of ten times- who was she kidding, ten out of ten times with her, that was what a guy wanted. Not him. She liked him for that, right then, right there. The posh place, the security, the not asking for anything-

He didn't ask. He ordered with a kindly smile. "Now, let's kill your little friend."

* * *

_Present_

"Faith!" Wesley heard a low, heated curse from the bent form.

"Just a muscle spasm." Faith lied easily.

"We'll find a place to take a walk. I know you don't want to, but-"

"No. Walks are good. Let's find a place." She said hastily, anything to shut him up, give her some peace, time to think her thoughts... even though she didn't want to think them.

* * *

_Past_

"Hmm. You know what I wish? I wish you'd pull your hair back. I know, I know, fashion's not exactly my thing, but, gosh darn it, you know, you've got such a nice face. I can't understand why you hide it."

He didn't want sex. When he talked to her, said little compliments, showed little concerns- just because he must really like her.

He gave her milk and cookies. It was so Saturday afternoon snack time. Instantly brought back pangs of longing for a normal life, like her school friends had. Bike rides, snack time, shopping- she never had that.

"There you go. Now, first you load up on calcium. Then find this demon, kill the heck out of him, and bring the books to me."

" And if Buffy gets to him first?"

"Oh, well. Frankly I don't like to think about that. I like good, positive, up thoughts. If you fail me in that way... Well, you know, replacing Mr. Trick was chore enough."

* * *

_Present_

Another groan, this one louder, sharper.

"I'm pulling over. Are you in pain? Is it your stomach?"

"No. I mean, yeah. Yeah, you were right, solid food's a bitch after the liquid diet." Faith waved him on, "I'll be fine until the next gas station or wherever."

"I'll get you a - smoothie? Smoothie is the healthy one, milkshakes are just ice cream, right?"

"Right."

* * *

_Past_

He stood beside her. His hand was on her back, and her eyes were sealed. "Alright, you can open them up now."

A box was on the desk in front of her. A gift. For her. "Fab. What's the occasion?"

"Faith! As if I need a reason to show you my affection. Or appreciation for running a small errand at the airport."

"Airport? What's next? Gonna want me to help a buddy of yours move a sofa?"

" This isn't a free ride, young lady. You know, I'm beginning to think that somebody's getting a little spoiled. Maybe I should take this back."

"Sorry... Sir."

"That's my girl."

* * *

_Present_

"Holy shit."

"What?"

"Just- thinking." _Thinking I was duped. No, 'cause you have to be _fooled_ to be duped, and he didn't fool me. _I _fooled me. So that's just stupid._

"Damn. _Damn_. I don't believe I did it again." _Maybe I'm doing it now. Same act, different actors._

"Should we go to the hospital?" Wesley zoomed off one of the Route 80 exits, growing more alarmed. _She needs proper care. Slayer's are not impervious to illness and accident- simply more resistant, and quicker to heal. _

"No!" Faith looked at him, eyes wide. "No more hospitals, no more!"

"Alright, alright, just take it easy. Oh, look, there's a welcome center, and it has a footpath. We'll ease out that muscle spasm. Now tell me. What was it that happened again? Is it in the upper or lower leg? Or your back?"

Faith ran her hands through her thick, barely brushed hair. "It's not the muscles. It's the stupidity. Dammit!"

"I'm sorry, what are we-?" He was lost.

"He didn't play me- I just let myself go along with the playing. The Mayor. He was one of those 'with expectations' kinda guys. Like all the guys... like everyone. He never really wanted me. Just what I could do." She shook her head at her own folly. "I even warned B. I told her, when she was goin' on at me about some 'understanding people' crap. I told her, 'It doesn't matter what kind of vibe you get off a person. 'Cause nine times out of ten, the face they're showing you is not the real one.'." Faith jabbed her finger into her knee between word, emphasizing her anger. "He used me, I used him. He didn't want _me._"

Wesley nodded, searching for the comforting words, but not too comforting. His mouth couldn't seem to filter his thoughts sufficiently, so he stalled with a quick, "Right." and exited the car, came to her side and opened the door. Faith used her slowly returning upper body strength to pull herself forward and onto his shoulder. He guided her knees out and she stood, wobbling, leaning heavily on him.

"Easy... easy..." He was a living crutch, moving with her, slowly, steadily, ignoring the pallor on her face, and the dullness in her eyes as he led her towards the long concrete path lined with small trees.

"I think you're wise to see that he- that he wanted something in exchange for all he gave you." Wesley murmured, eyes on her feet, matching his stride to hers, short and hobbling.

"I wanted something from him, so- no big." Faith squared her shoulders and made for the nearest bench, her legs already complaining.

"I think you were wrong though."

"Oh God. Look, if we do this, can you save my ass without so much talk? Once I'm not cooped up in a car, gotta tell you- I'm not real big on conversation."

He ignored her with a slight grunt. She was heavy, almost dead weight from the hips down. "You said he didn't want you. I am sure that he did."

"What makes you the expert, huh?" Faith crashed to a seat, rubbing her numb, tingling calves.

He sat down beside her, slightly winded from half-carrying her. "Because anyone would have wanted you with them. How could anyone _not _want you on their team? We all did. We wanted you on ours." Wesley told her with such simple sincerity that it disarmed her.

For a split second. _Remember that thing about conditions? He can't have it both ways. _ "If it was _your_ way." Faith pointed out angrily. "Buffy's way. Council's way, Watcher's way... I am _not_ your good girl, America's sweetheart cheerleader, who follows the rules!"

_Good Lord, you bear your soul, you confess you want her, you admire her gifts, you offer support without pity, and what do you get? An argument at the very least_. "Buffy would hardly be what we'd call rule-abiding." Wesley felt compelled to mention.

"I'm not her!" Faith spat.

He spat back. "Then show me _who you are_!"

* * *

No one spoke after that, not for the next hundred miles.

_Please. Please, just say something. I'd beg if I hadn't spent enough of my life groveling... _Wesley rubbed his forehead, rapidly creasing in this past month.

_ How do you explain you take it back, that you shouldn't have said it, that it's hypocritical to ask that of her, when you couldn't answer the same question?_ Wesley lowered his visor. The afternoon sun beat on his brow and glinted on his glasses. He took them off and squinted ahead. He decided he'd have to get used to flying blind, as long as he was with her.

Faith rolled down the window let her hair blow back across guarded, faraway eyes. The same challenge rolled around and around in her mind. _Show him who I am? How do I explain I haven't figured that out? _

_ How do I tell him that even if I had an answer, I wouldn't give it to him? 'Cause if they see you for who you are, they can hurt you for who you are- not just the person you let them see?_

* * *

Her olive branch came later, as the sun set, and his eyes sagged. "Find a hotel? We're beat."

"Next exit in twenty miles."

"Hey. I looked at the map. Found some random place in Nebraska. You up for living in a cornfield for a week until you get your stuff?"

He smothered a sudden relieved smile. "I think that sounds suitable."

* * *

He helped her up the stairs that evening, because there were no rooms available on the ground floor of the small, two story motor lodge. She leaned on him until she got into the room, and then tried a step on her own.

_Damn. _Faith grabbed blindly for something to hold onto.

Yet again he caught her before she fell.

"I know you don't see it, but you're getting better." Wesley encouraged, pushing a chair under her unstable legs once he had her upright again.

"You're a little ball of sunshine, Wes." She grunted. "Big on the support."

"Well, I try." He took her snideness as a compliment. It made her groan, but he didn't care. God knew he'd stifled his own share of groans in the last few days.

"You can stop trying anytime now." Faith said nonchalantly.

It would be far simpler. Safer. Another potential waited for him, if he chose. Out in Blackpool. Home to England. Probably home to a Council desk job, if he requested it. "No. I'm afraid I can't stop." He gave her a stiff smile.

"Believe me- you can. I have that effect on people." Faith's smile wasn't stiff, it was almost proud, a swagger with lips instead of hips.

"Perhaps you do. As for me, I was certainly taught, even bred, to be cold, unsupportive, unemotional." Wesley rummaged in the bedside table, pulled out a local take out menu and the television remote. He paused, looking contemplatively at the ugly mass-produced artwork above her head as if having an epiphany. "You know, my father placed conditions on me since birth. I've obeyed them, lived up to them, many times even exceeded them. One thinks to oneself, I'll do this, I'll reach that, and then he'll be proud of me. Then he'll love me."

Faith looked openly horrified. _Please don't do the 'Daddy never loved me' speech... please, please, please..._

_ Even if I totally get where you're coming from._

He shook himself out of his speculation, hot under his polo collar. "Or not. In my case, it's always been 'or not.' He's never said it. We British gentlemen don't get soppy, you know." Wesley fussed with his glasses and coughed. "Still. He might've told me at least once in the last twenty seven years."

Faith's voice broke the calm, loud and confused. "Is this the part where you want a hug or something? Because I don't hug. Ever."

"No." He grinned crookedly. "This the part where you understand why I will be stubborn and refuse to stop being supportive. No matter what. Father like son may be where I started, but come all the furies of hell- it will not be where I end." He dropped the menu and remote hastily in her lap, and backed away. "You don't have to end up there, either, Faith. We don't have to be anything they tried to 'make us'." He concluded quietly.

It was a good thought. A hopeful thought. Something like a fighting spirit sputtered inside her. _We'll show them_, it whispered.

She watched him moving around the little room, like he had the night before, carefully, routinely setting things up for her, out for her, like it was nothing, like he didn't mind doing it.

She watched him move, and marveled- in a freaked out way- that she now knew there was something more than a textbook inside that man. She could hear his words, echoing, encouraging that feeble fight left inside of her.

_I'm giving you a choice- either you lay here and waste away to nothing, or you trust someone for once in your life and we give each other a second chance to be the Watcher and Slayer no one thought we could be. That no one thinks we can be- not even us. You lay here and die- or we show the world who we really are._

Faith began to nod to herself, to his words in her head. _He's right. Who cares what we're supposed to be, what are parents were? I never did what anyone told me before, I'm not gonna start now. Be who I want. If he wants to be who he wants, next to me, it's not a big deal. For now. _

"Do you know what you want?" Wesley asked, back towards her.

Faith coughed. It was hard to say. "I- I think I'm whoever the hell I want. And I think I want to keep it that way. And I think your old man's hardcore stupid if he thinks you fail all the time. You survived me for a couple days, that's gotta be some kind of record."

Wesley turned, surprise and pleasure on his face, hastily replaced with a look of awkward discomfort. "I meant on the menu. For dinner."

"Oh. Oh! Uh- chicken. Chicken is fine." Faith's face mirrored his, before the always cool and confident facade came down.

"About what you said-"

"Save it. Just save it, Wes." She half-warned, half-pleaded.

He listened. "Chicken it is."

* * *

The day ended better than it had begun. It ended better than the night before. Wesley, exhausted, and punch drunk from verbal sparring all day, risked being pleased with himself.

This_ is Watcherhood. _This_ is true Watcher-Slayer bonding. This is what a Watcher's life should truly be, developing that close knit pact and trust with his Slayer. _

"I think we've made great strides." Wesley smiled sleepily, helping her back from her nightly rituals, towards the bed. "Wouldn't you say? I feel we've grown." He said with a touch of the old pomposity.

Faith rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay."

He could feel a research paper about the true roles of a Watcher coming on. He'd call it something catchy. _Beyond the Books- Watcher and Slayer Bonding._ They'd call it the Wyndham-Pryce method someday. He supposed they ought to call it the Giles-Wyndham-Pryce method. Or perhaps the Summers-Lehane method?

He stopped his inner rambling to look at his charge, who seemed decidedly not enthused. He turned his slightly skewed smile to her. "We're finding out so much. Aren't we?"

Faith sank onto the edge of the bed and smiled crookedly. "Sure." She nodded sarcastically. "Today I found out we both have major daddy issues."

He deflated. Not what he'd hoped for, but accurate. Sadly. "True."

"Night."

Research papers crumpled and thoughts of Council-awe vanished. _It didn't really matter. She matters._

Faith waited for him to drag it out, waited for the rehash, something. It didn't come.

He looked around once more, made sure she had everything, and he'd already helped her get ready for bed. "Goodnight, Faith. Shout if you need me." He hesitated. Maybe he should say something more. _She _most certainly should.

Neither did.

"Sleep well." He nodded, and shut the door behind him.

She waited until her keen senses heard shutting doors and running water in the room beside hers before she closed her eyes, letting out an exhausted sigh. "You too, Wes." She flicked off the bedside lamp.

In the dark there was some soft rustling, and then a harsh, if somewhat drowsy exclamation. "If I ever meet his dad- I'm totally kicking his ass."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Voting is open at Sunnydale Memorial, and Offers You Can't Refuse, the piece that spawned this one, and the piece that showed the beginnings of the F/W journey, is up for a number of awards. Thank you to all showed support and encouragement!_

_Dedicated to: Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, Sirius120, Naomi, Jewel74, Alkeni, and Jinxgirl. You guys rock!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part V**

_Fooling Ourselves_

"Okay, I have a new rule." Faith greeted him in the morning, already washed and semi-dressed.

Wesley ignored her declaration in favor of staring wide eyed at her. "Look at you! Can you walk on your own now?"

She considered lying, saying yes- but he'd figure it out the first time she tried a step. She considered not telling him how she'd managed to get ready- but that didn't seem right either. "Nah, check me out." Faith slid off the edge of the bed and when she reached her knees she let herself fall forward, part contrivance, part necessity, as her spine was weakest from the center down, and her leg muscles were still practically nonexistent. "I got this, combat style." Her arm muscles were better, she was using them more. Using her arms and elbows, she belly-crawled fairly quickly, over to the doorway, and grinned up at him. "I'd be through enemy lines, lightening fast." She pushed herself up- and realized that in her other attempts (to the bathroom and back) there'd been the sink or the bed to pull herself up on. Here there was only-

His hands were automatic, pulling her steadily by the forearms until she was up, looking at her with a beaming smile. "Wonderful!"

"Yeah, well, not as wonderful as being able to use my feet instead of my elbows, but whatever." She shrugged easily. There were only a few things she couldn't physically do on her own yet, and one of them was really getting to be necessary. A necessity, but a stupid, vain necessity that she didn't want to bug him about.

"I'll get your shoes and we'll get on our way. I was doing some calculations-"

"Ughhh." Faith let out a groan. "Wes, you're starting to sound like Mr. Textbook. Can you only do the human thing for two days at a time?"

Wesley looked pained, but he gave her a small, dead eyed grin. "Possibly. I'm new at it."

An uncomfortable feeling, a feeling of regret- maybe- pricked her, and she shrugged. "Yeah, well- I guess we're both making progress."

He nodded, and retrieved her shoes, helping her on with them, while thinking how to say what he wanted to say- but not like he was informing, lecturing. _Just talk to her. Just talk._

"Isn't Wyoming cowboy country?"

"Oh, dude, I don't know. Texas is, and that's like all I know about geography outside of Boston and Cali." Faith laughed. "Oh, and there's an ocean on either end of this country, with massive farms and a couple mountains in the middle. That's it."

"Then I guess we'll see what we see. I'm hoping we'll be through most of Wyoming by nightfall."

"Gonna get yourself a Stetson? Some chaps?"

"Heavens," he allowed himself to give a genuine laugh, "I don't think I could bring myself to try those on. I'd look an utter fool- and I've already had my fair share of that."

Faith agreed - at least about the hat. _But some denim- and keep that stubble- hmm. Stringy Marlboro man. It could work. If he kept his mouth shut._ Which reminded her, back to the new rule. "Okay, no cowboy look for you. Just get where we're going."

He tied the last lace and congratulated himself._ See. Just talking. Like normal. We're going to be okay. _He thought enviously of that easy going, respectful, yet playful attitude so evident between Buffy and Giles. It spoke of deep friendship. He wanted that. He hadn't realized it before, but now he did, that he wanted what he thought all Watcher- Slayer pairings should have- something more than just professional relationships. Friendship. In Buffy and Giles case- family. He didn't think he and Faith would ever get there. But friends? They could get there, surely. _It all starts like this. With just talking._

"So, new rule?"

"Ah, yes, you had said."

"No talking." She said quietly. Faith had kept waking up in the middle of the night. Thinking. Worrying. Why had she shared so much, why had she shared _anything_? And didn't he know it all already? Baring your soul- it just leaves you bare. Vulnerable. Her body was a punching bag, fine, let him, let anyone, see that stripped down, but inside was the place they couldn't hurt you- unless you showed them how.

"No-?"

"No. I don't like shrinks. I don't like wannabe ones, either."

He deflated, inside and out. His eyes were sad and resigned, and he didn't let her see them, anyway. He turned quickly from her under the pretext of getting her bags. "Right."

It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

"Can we listen to some tunes, or something?" Faith didn't make it past an hour before she felt like the silence was choking her. He'd made her sick. Poisoned her. Infected, that was it. She'd caught communication from him. Now words buzzed around her head, a thousand aimless, nameless things, just dying to get out, to make conversation. Because for a very long time, she'd been around other people, but she'd very rarely had someone she could _talk to._

"Pick a station." Wesley took some petty satisfaction in her obvious stir craziness. _You don't want to talk to me- fine. So be it._

That lasted about another hour- and then it was his turn to crack.

* * *

"Oh, dear, sweet _Lord _! What are you _doing_? How can you do this to yourself? Your must be bleeding into your brain!" Wesley snapped under seventy five minutes of thrash metal, only broken up by 5 minutes of commercials for piercings, tattoos, and concerts guaranteed to make your head burst, all done by announcers who screamed when they spoke.

Faith looked surprised. "Huh?"

He cranked the station selector over and turned the radio off in self-preservation. "Your taste in music is best in small doses." He said calmly, and then, under his breath, "While wearing earplugs..."

"So what do _you_ listen to? " Faith spat, offended- but she'd kind of been expecting it. She'd been betting he'd crack at forty five minutes, so she was sort of impressed with him as well.

"I don't know... something lighter. More musical. Played with actual instruments, not simply people banging bin lids against amplifiers."

"Oooh. Hoity toity, Mr. Uptight." Faith smirked. "Mozart vs. Mosh Pit? Your music is _dead._ At least the musicians I like are still alive."

"Give them a few years. I imagine their brain stems will have disintegrated by then." Wesley groused.

"You-"

"I thought you weren't speaking to me." Wesley cut her off. _Dammit, Wesley, what are you doing? Bad enough she said that, now when she does start to speak- you sabotage it._

"This doesn't count as talking." Faith said glibly.

"Because it has no depth?"

"Nailed it." She made a shooting motion with her finger.

"So small talk isn't talk?"

Now the glibness was fading. "Maybe not."

_But it's better than nothing._ "Hr-hrm. Ozzy Osbourne is a terrible- uh- performer." Wesley baited stiffly, naming the only artist he could think of who was classed as "metal". He hoped.

"You did_ not._" Faith prepared to toss her green squeezy ball at his head.

"I believe I did."

She went off, some head shaking, finger wagging, entire body grooving tirade as she informed him about metal and real metal and then the supremacy of Mr. Osbourne and all his satanic fakery, and then proceeded to tell him how truly hideous opera and those 'dead powdered wig dudes' were.

He grinned the whole way through. He thought, when she finally ran out of steam, that she might be smiling too.

* * *

The hotels in Wyoming were not plentiful, and when they at last found a city big enough for Faith, and small enough for him, it was well after midnight, on a long and tiring day, a day spent largely in arguments about control of the radio and the merits of truck stop food to fast food- something Faith seemed to have very clear opinions on, and something Wesley was completely lost about- although he had definite opinions that they were eating far too much of both.

* * *

"I think we ought to go to a proper restaurant. Not now obviously, as everything is closed at one AM-"

"Bars aren't."

"As I was saying, " he pulled into the rather rusted looking single story motel, "The Bunk House Inn and Coach Lodge" , "you need a meal where they serve vegetables. Fruits. Perhaps even meat that hasn't been through more processing than Cher."

"Oooh, nice one." Faith almost high fived him. Almost.

"Tomorrow we'll-

"How are you paying for all this?"

"Cash." He said simply.

_So he's loaded now. I could take the money and run. Take the keys, the cash, the car- and I couldn't work the pedals._

_ I bet he'd come after me, too._

What was even worse- she bet he would forgive her.

_Don't I want to be forgiven?_

The voice inside her was silent, lost. Unable to answer. "Cash?"

"My credit cards have cash advances as an option. I took out all the money in Nevada, and I'm doing as you suggested- not leaving a trail."

"That's smart." She chewed her full lower lip. "But cash doesn't last forever."

He was all too aware. "We'll be fine for now."

That was all she needed to worry about after all. The now. They wouldn't be stuck together for long.

"I insist on a nice dinner. At an_ actual_ restaurant. With actual silverware and actual plates." He said with something close to longing. He wasn't used to "roughing it".

"You buyin' me dinner?" Faith raised one eyebrow, the flirtation obvious and inborn. Whenever guys bought her dinner, they wanted dessert to be "on her". She waited for the sweat to form on his upper lip, or the gaze to waver, show a little wolf under that lamb exterior.

He never even blinked. "I have been for the last few nights. It's perfectly fine. I don't mind it."

She believed him.

* * *

He half carried, half held her up into a room, let her try getting into a shower on her own, and ended up once again doing the most awkward things he'd ever done in his life- not looking, not touching, just sort of being a pair of arms- a living handicap rail, as she got in and out of the tub. Then there was the further strangeness of putting her into bed, in nothing but a pair of her underwear and a tee shirt. He found it intensely uncomfortable. She didn't seem to mind. Not about her body, not about him catching glimpses of it- as long as all the important parts were covered.

What she seemed to mind was looking at herself in the mirror. "Okay, I'll go to a restaurant." She blurted as she propped herself up in bed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the blank television screen facing them.

Wesley wasn't even aware that had been under contention. "Will you?" He seemed mildly surprised at her outburst. "How nice."

"On one condition!" Faith closed her still somewhat bruised looking eyes. "You get me some makeup. I keep hinting. You know, with the saying how dead I look, an' stuff. I was hoping I'd ride it out, or be back on my feet faster and go get it myself, but..."

_Makeup_. How had he neglected the human needs once again? Not the basic needs but the ones that made her human? The concern over appearance, having a certain "look".

"You want me to go mingle with civilians, normal people, not truckers who've been riding for 36 hours and look kinda the same as I do, then I need to comb out this nest in the back of my hair, and I need some color on this face!" She cried.

"Of course. I-I never considered... Well. I will now. When stop we make tomorrow, I'll get whatever you need." He rummaged for hotel stationary in the small dresser supporting the television- but there was none. There was a faded, water stained postcard, and an uncapped pen. He handed her those. "Write down what you want."

* * *

The first stop came around mid day, as they made good time across the roads less traveled, speeding as he found this freedom both exhilarating and frightening. Faith apparently found it to be neither, sleeping slumped against the car window, mouth half open, cheek pressed to the glass.

Things were far from good. They also seemed to be getting farther from bad. By half past ten they'd crossed into Nebraska, and the time for the freedom of aimless highway was gone.

"Faith?" He shook her shoulder gently.

"Hands off!" Faith shouted almost reflexively, fists up, eyes open

"I'm sorry!" Wesley gasped, horrified, and hit the rumble strip along the median.

"Oh. It's you. " Faith let her lids flutter closed. "I don't have to pee, keep driving."

"I think you're dehydrated." Wesley muttered, but he continued to speak to her. "I need the atlas. What's the name of that town you wanted to stay in for a week?"

"Are we in Nebraska already?" Eyes reopened. "You're a total lead foot, aren't you?"

Wesley flushed slightly. "Nonsense." So what if he'd secretly been imagining he was James Dean, and this car was a motorbike?

_And the good boy has one little sin. I can work with that._

Faith picked up the atlas, but didn't open it. "Why don't you just ask where the nearest big city is at the next gas station?"

"I don't want to stay in a big metropolis until you're better." He didn't know why. He just felt big cities were easier to get lost in. To slip away, slip through the cracks, and then well- she'd be gone.

_ You can't cage her, in a rule book, or in a little room, nor with your pathetic craving to be needed and respected._

_ A big sized city might be the best now. Just now, when she can't run far._

_ You do disgust me sometimes, and I _am_ you. How loathsome._

"You zoned on me." Faith snapped her fingers under his nose. "I said, 'There are no really big cities out here'. I mean, yeah they've got some cities, but it's not like LA. It's not like Boston. Not unless the travel agencies have been keeping secrets, 'cause you never hear any hype about 'Come to Nebraska, we've got wild parties and the nightlife is off the charts'." She laughed and smiled.

_Such a quiet, but rare beauty she has. When she's not hiding so much of herself. _Wesley was suddenly struck by her, even pale and raw looking, when she laughed, she had the most lovely smile, and such warmth in her eyes. "I believe Lincoln is the capital city."

"And every city has a not so awesome district, and that's where we stay." Faith explained to the road rookie.

He gave in, more easily than she'd expected. "Can we stay in the better part of the not so awesome section?" He asked with the barest hint of pleading.

_Don't get spoiled. You know you could get soft real fast. You already did that in Sunnydale. Twice_.

But she agreed without a fight. "Yeah. I'm cool with that. It's just for a week after all."

* * *

_Sunset..._

"Ah yes. I'd like to get one of your furnished flats. Oh, I meant to say furnished _apartments._ Silly habit, I grew up in the United Kingdom, perhaps you could-" Wesley coughed nervously, and brought himself back on track. "An apartment with two bedrooms. Please." Wesley smiled winningly at the man in front of the Week In- Week Out Short Term Rentals office. "Would that be possible?"

"I have ta check." The man looked past him to the half-empty block where half-rusted pick up trucks lined the sidewalk. "We're real popular with the tourists."

The sarcasm passed him. "Of course." Wesley nodded absently and turned to look out the front window of the leasing office and gave Faith, sitting in the car with the window open, a thumbs up. She groaned.

"You want one with towels and dishes, or not?" The grizzled man demanded tersely.

"Hm? Oh good, there is one available. Excellent."

"Towels and dishes and whatnot is extra."

"I think we'll splurge." Wesley decided with a rueful smile.

* * *

"How much did you pay?"

"Three hundred."

"Are you kidding me!?" Faith squawked. "In _this_ town? In _this _place? One fifty, tops."

"But it's a furnished two bedroom with linens and kitchen things already provided." He pointed out in a hurt voice. He thought he'd done so well.

"Get me out of this car and into that office." Faith growled.

"Faith, this isn't necessary." Now wounded pride turned to injured and insulted pride.

"Hey-" She snapped angrily, and then, the fire dimmed, the braggadocia and bluster simply fell out of her voice. "Look, I'm one step above vegetable here- is that mineral? Whatever. Would you let me do something besides sit on my ass, feeling useless?"

Wesley blinked, and slowly swung the car door open and held it for her. "Be my guest."

She pulled herself up using the door frame, and made it from the car to the interior using his arm, clutched in a determined, furious clench, not so much holding on, but using him to push herself off for every step. With a lurch, she made it to the office counter, and smacked the little silver bell for service. "Get lost." She tossed over her shoulder.

"What?"

"Gimme five minutes, now go." Faith hissed.

"Help you in a tick, folks." A voice called from somewhere in back.

"I'm a loner, remember? I don't do my stuff with an audience." She tossed her head and refused to look at him anymore.

"Very well, then." He nodded once, and turned away. _So much for friendship, for partnership. _

_She's going to look damn silly when she can't even walk back to the front door with whatever money she's bullied or extorted out of him. And I'm letting her do this. Bully, extort, threaten- and fall on her face._

_Probably because I can't tell if I got played, or I _am_ being played. _

He leaned his head back against the gritty brick wall and sighed. "I'll give her five minutes..."

* * *

"-which is why you're going to charge us $150.00 per week, and we won't wreck this dump anymore than it's already wrecked, and you'll be damn happy to get somebody into this place because we passed places a lot nicer all up and down the interstate." Faith concluded, jabbing her finger emphatically, dangerously close to the man's chest at each pause. And then she pulled the move that got them every time. She lowered her lids, pouted her lips, and added extra smoke to her already throaty voice, "It'd make me happy. Very happy. You'd be...surprised..." fingers danced tantalizingly around the edge of her collar and trailed over her sternum, "what a good neighbor I can be when I'm 'happy'." Her teeth snapped shut over the last word.

The rental agent gulped and plunked two hundreds on the counter. "Take it easy, lady. First week's a hundred, the rest are one seventy five. And you pay for any damages, or we impound that car 'til you do." He gave her a distinctly uneasy glare and hustled back behind his filing cabinets.

"Damn. I'm losing my touch." Faith muttered to herself, stuffing the money into the pocket of her jeans, the other hand beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping her body upright, propped against the ledge of the counter.

"He didn't give us a refund?" Wesley's voice was directly behind her, mildly amused.

"Don't do that!" Faith half spun, lurched, and landed on his chest.

He straightened her up, feeling a few slips of paper forced into his hand.

"It wasn't the refund. I got your money." Faith grumbled, and cast a venomous look back towards the clerk. "Just not my usual reaction."

"Well, you're still recovering. You'll be properly terrifying soon." Wesley mumbled, and shook his head.

Faith caught sight of herself in the windshield as they returned to the parking lot. Even dark and slightly distorted, she could see some of the problem. "Pasty. Not even pretty pasty. Like spoiled milk pasty. Damn." And her hair. The unmentionable vanity. "Oh, I'm good and terrifying now."

"On the mend, then." Wesley dangled the key to their weekly let in front of her face. "Shall we see if we got our money's worth?"

* * *

It was simply furnished, two small bedrooms, kitchen and living room merging together, bathroom situated out of sight and about the size of a closet.

"Well- this should be fun." Faith teetered around , leaning on him and the wall. The shower was a stall type. "Guess my legs better start working pretty soon, or I'd better get really good at being propped up against a wall."

"We'll think of something." Wesley remained determinedly positive.

The only thing stopping Faith from hitting him was the fact that she'd have to let go of him to do it. _How screwed up is that?_

* * *

He brought in the few scant things they owned, set them out like a fussing mother hen, hanging her clothes over the handful of wire coat hangers left in the cubby-sized closet in her room, putting all her toiletries and his in the rusted medicine cabinet over the tiny bathroom sink. She sat on the faded salmon colored sofa and watched, silently cursing her legs and her body as a whole for taking this long to start working again.

"Sorted. Now, we did make a deal." Wesley brushed off his hands and smiled at her from across the living room.

Instantly her senses went into protective overdrive. "We did?"

"Yes, a proper restaurant, remember?" He frowned at the sudden frost in her tone.

"Oh. That. Um. Yeah, but I had a deal to add to that deal." Faith crossed her arms and leaned back- trying to look the picture of cool confidence. It would have worked better if she hadn't then had to frantically push herself back up, since as she slanted back, her spine decided to simply go limp and let her start pouring onto the floor like a human puddle.

"What was that?" His own tone wasn't exactly relaxed, and his eyes hardened.

Faith licked her lips. Twice. Then whispered, "I need some help with my hair."

"What?" Wesley's hands dropped to his sides in relaxed surprise.

"Look, it's not a big deal, but I can't-" She showed him, lifting her arms, bending them back as if to reach the very back of her dark, flowing mane, which instead was a dark, flowing mane with one big tangled clump in the back, dead center. Her arms couldn't stay up and back like that. "I mean, not like I care. Not like anyone notices it. At pit stops on the highway, that's not a big deal. But if you want to take me out someplace, where people might actually see how I look..." She paused, ashamed on multiple levels, that she was weak and needed help, and the she wanted to look nice. _Slayers don't look nice. They kick ass. We can't all be blondie valley girl prom queen types. We're tough, we're tattooed. I could rock a buzz cut, if I- _She trailed off, refusing to admit to herself that she still cared if others thought she was beautiful, worth a second, lustful look, worth wanting, if nothing more.

"Oh my. Of course." Wesley understood her half-explained request. "I hadn't even thought of that, I didn't even notice." He scurried off, back to the bathroom to retrieve the brush he'd brought for her.

_Didn't even notice?_ Feminine pride was sulking. Faith didn't want him to "notice" her like that- not exactly. _But all men should notice. Men should want- but_ I_ should get the trifecta, want, take, have. 'Cause all men are beasts underneath, and that lust should get easily activated by someone who knows that, who shows it, who speaks the same language of do it hard, do it fast, because we want it. Nothing more complicated. Just two beasts. Two sexy beasts. _

"Here we are." He held out the brush. "Now, should I support your arm for you, or should I simply brush?"

Faith blinked herself back to reality. _The universe stuck me with the one guy who drowned his inner beast in a teapot- or maybe beat it to death with an encyclopedia_. "I can't hold it back there without hurting anyway." Faith admitted grumpily after she tried, weak muscles screamin. "Might as well do it yourself." She tossed the brush back into his palm.

"Yes. Hmm. Let me see here..." He moved behind her, and she tensed, then her shoulders dropped. He hummed softly and separated the smooth, soft locks that she had been able to reach away from the matted mess in the back.

_The universe sticks me with the one guy I don't think I'll ever understand. Not that I need to. It'd just be easier if I could. _

"Uh- do I just-"

She barked, "It's hair! You point the bristles at the hair and you pull."

"Right." He complied.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"Weak neck, don't pull with your whole arm, geez." Faith slapped her leg angrily as her head snapped back.

"My hair's never been this long, you'll have to forgive me if I don't have proper technique." Wesley grunted and paused. "Now, hang on- I'm going to-"

"What are you-?"

"Just a moment-"

"Hands, dude!"

Some repositioning and vague snapping and huffing, and he now clasped a handful of hair on top of her head, his torso bracing the neck, and the other hand now brushing straight up. "Is that better for your neck?"

"Neck is peachy. Head kinda hurts." Faith said in a strangled voice.

"Good." Wesley muttered distractedly, and tried again.

Tug, brush, exclamation, tug, brush, sigh, and then, "You're just screwing around with the tangles! Brush them _out_! I'm not gonna break."

"As you wish." He took a long, strong swipe, no more gentle pulling on the brunette knots.

"Ow! Damn it, _ow_! I said brush them out, not_ rip_ them out!"

He dropped the brush - half threw it would be more accurate. "Didn't you once wrestle a pair of alligators into submission- and sustain a crushed tibia?"

"Man, I even got my guts stabbed out and fell four stories into the back of a moving truck once." Faith chuckled darkly.

Brush retrieved, nerves steeled, voice the epitome of calm rationality as he began again, "Then a bit of hair tugging can't possibly-"

"OW!"

"I'm trying!"

"You're not doing it right!"

"You're not giving very clear instructions!"

* * *

_Thirty cursing and shouting minutes later..._

Her hair was smooth. Considerably thinner in a few spots in the back, but smooth.

Wesley had come to two very important conclusions, and he imagined Faith had as well. One, he was not good at providing care. Two, she was not good at receiving it. Belatedly, he acknowledged the third and most damning- they both needed to do exactly those things.

Neither of them enjoyed failure, used to excelling in their respective roles of the academic and the ruthless fighter.

"Now. Condition met. Dinner?" He would have to shower first. Change clothes. Who knew such a simple task could create so much wrinkling and sweating? He wiped his face and very nearly exfoliated his palm. "After I shave. Dash it, I didn't pack the disposable razor from the hotel. I'll have to go out looking like some denizen of skid row."

Faith rubbed her sore neck. "Yeah, or you could go out to the drug store we passed like two miles back and get razors. I can wait to eat." She shrugged. She'd gone hungry a lot in her life, and she had never, not ever in her life, done the "three squares" or the "four food groups".

"I won't be long." Wesley said gratefully. "Just because I'm somewhat of a renegade doesn't mean I have to look unkempt." He muttered to himself and brushed his hair from his eyes. He hadn't slicked it back in days, just ran a wet comb through it to keep it in some sort of order. It fell in a relaxed angle across his brow. _Unprofessional! , _he could hear his father shouting. "Shut up, Father." Wesley muttered angrily under his breath.

"I didn't say anything." Faith turned to look at him.

"Hm? Oh, no... I - never mind."

"If you say so. Hey, here's that list." Faith dug in her jeans pocket. "Do you think while you're getting your razors, you can pick up my stuff? I'm tired of looking like the things I used to slay."

"Ah, yes, right. Two birds with one stone." He took the list and folded it into his wallet. "Back in a few."

"Put conditioner on there."

"I took the little bottle from the hotel."

"Hotel conditioner is like nickel cigars, okay?"

He had only a vague idea of what that meant, but he was pleased to agree and be gone. "Right. Any particular brand?"

"Nothing too fancy." She shrugged. "I'm gonna check out what's on the tube."

* * *

When he left, they both sighed gratefully.

_Thank God. Peace and quiet._ He got into the car.

_I should've asked him to bring me a beer._ Faith clicked on the small television with the faded screen and prepared to let her mind go numb.

* * *

"I needed to bring her some cosmetics." Wesley reminded himself. He was frankly, quite blurry with lack of sleep. Endless driving, poor diet, a month and a half of frayed nerves- on top of the previous half a year of strained working and personal relationships.

He blinked his gritty eyes and turned down the last aisle in the medium sized pharmacy, small plastic basket over his arm swaying, filled with shaving cream, razors, conditioner, and a few packets instant soup and cans of pre-made pasta that were on sale. Their kitchen- kitchenette, he supposed, consisted of a mini-fridge, hot plate, microwave, and single burner range/sink.

"She was right. He did overcharge." Wesley mumbled and unfolded her list.

_Lipstick- Poison passion or cherry sin. _

_ Eyeliner- Black_

_ Mascara- Black_

_ Geisha Girl All in One. _

"What in the world?" Wesley had no idea what those words even meant (at least not in those combinations), aside from lipstick and black. "Doesn't mascara go 'round the eyes? What's eyeliner and why is it different?"

"What do you need, hon?"

Wesley turned abruptly to see two women in store smocks and name tags staring at him curiously. "Oh. I- I'm just trying to pick up some things for a-" _A friend? Hardly. _"Pick up a few things - hm. Yes. Am I in the way?"

"No, just saw you were new in town and you looked lost."

"New in town?" Wesley took a step back. _How did they know that? Were we followed in spite of our precautions? Had they-_

"It's a big city, but this district ain't exactly a hot spot. We know the regulars and the out of towners."

"Ah. I just- oh! There it is!" Wesley saw the placards over the shelves, one labeled Eyeliner, one labeled Mascara. He quickly grabbed a black shade of each and moved off down the aisle. His two shadows moved with him. Actually, he was glad for them. "Can you tell me where to find these items?" He held out his list, eying the overwhelming sea of little tubes and compacts in front of him.

The women looked at him, looked at the list, and looked back at him. "Mm-mm-mm." One shook her head.

"You don't have the right shades?" He asked.

"Ooh, honey." The other reached up and seized his chin, turning his head.

"I beg your pardon!" He brushed her off, stepping back.

"You're more of an August Flower. Poison Passion just isn't your shade."

"_My _shade?" His eyes widened. "Oh, no. Not- not for -"

"Dee Dee and I can fill out a color chart with you."

Wesley made a whimper of protest.

"He needs bronzer."

"Those cheekbones, honey..."

"I'm sorry, I- I have to- these are _not_ for _me_."

"Sure, Sweetie." One patted his hand as it protectively clutched his basket.

"You get whatever color you want, but if you take my advice, that dark stuff is just going to tone down your natural highlights."

* * *

_Thirty minutes and thirty dollars worth of makeup later..._

"Whiskey. Large. No, make it a brandy."

Men in plaid stared at him. The deer head on the wall stared at him. The mounted fish stared accusingly and open mouthed. Wesley changed his order with a gulp. "A beer, please."

"Bud or Miller?" The large, unsmiling barkeep demanded.

"I don't care." Wesley took the first bottle offered, drained it, and then gagged.

"S'matter, English? You want it warm?"

"No... No, it was- lovely." The stares turned more hostile. "Where is your call box?"

"Call my what?"

"Phone's in the corner. Keep it down, the pre-pre season coaches conference is live." Some helpful plaid-coated person hoisted his bottle at the televisions mounted on the wall.

"My pleasure." Wesley put some cash on the bar and then went to the phone in the corner and dialed. "Please be home, please be home, please be-"

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank God." Wesley gasped fervently.

"Wesley!"

"I'm a fool. I'm a deluded, weak-willed, soft-spined _idiot _of a fool."

There was silence, then hesitantly, "You've just realized this?"

"Argh!" Wesley let out a frustrated groan.

"Hey! The Huskers coach is speaking!"

Wesley leaned his head on the black metal box and rubbed one temple. "Have you ever had to buy cosmetics for Buffy?"

Giles stopped tossing his stir-fry, putting the spatula down with a puzzled look, and gripping the receiver between his chin and shoulder. "No."

"Even when she's sick?"

"That's what Willow and her mother do. I buy flowers. Xander takes care of balloons. Angel used to stare anxiously and pummel people. I'm not sure what Spike would do, but I imagine it would involve pummeling as well."

"That's wonderful. You have a litany of people to assist you." Wesley tried to keep the envy and dejectedness from his voice.

"That's the best way, though it wasn't the way we were taught."

"Yes, but it's not one of my current options! I'm nursemaid, physiotherapist, chauffeur, travel guide, psychologist, parole officer, and now, errand boy!"

"You've taken on more roles than you thought, old man." Giles smiled.

"Well, obviously I shouldn't have."

The smile in his colleague's voice vanished. "We have to be whatever they need."

"Yes, but - but-" _But I want something in return. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I want to feel like it matters!_

"Buffy is friend. Daughter. Comic relief. Thought-challenger. Life-changer. Life-_maker_. But she wasn't always."

"She wasn't?"

"She refused to speak more than two words to me for several days when we first met. I almost had to physically restrain her to pass a single message."

"You'd never know that now."

Giles sighed. "Things changed. We came to- to care for each other. Depend on each other. I've been her nurse, her cover, her watchdog, her excuse, her tutor, her counselor, her liability, and her assistant. They call it Watcher because we watch them, and watch out for threats and weaknesses. The title isn't nearly accurate, it doesn't fit the job description at all. We watch with, perhaps on different fronts of the battle, but we're fighting by each other's sides. We watch _over_. They're more than mere tools, means to an end."

"I know. I know that now." Wesley closed his eyes.

Giles paused. He'd shown far too much of himself, and taken far too much of an interest in personal lives already, but something made him ask, "Why did you do it? You had to know that it wouldn't be the relationship that Buffy and I have."

"I knew that. I just knew- I had to save her. Help her."

"As you are. Is she- violent?"

"Far from it."

"Is she repentant?"

"Far from that as well."

Another muffled noise, it could have been a sigh, it could have been a groan. "Buffy's been very ill or gravely injured a few times, physically or emotionally. You simply keep caring for them until they heal. But they _do_ heal. If the care is right."

"But I'm terrible at being a caregiver!" _I was never shown much care myself. Authoritarian father, mother who cowered from him, and preferred to run the household, not spend time with me. Boarding school at six, university after that, career to follow, and back under the crushing fatherly heel again._ Wesley cleared his throat. "I've never even had a pet of my own. I don't even enjoy houseplants, they're untidy. I doubt I could keep them alive. Books. Books, languages, and rules, that's all I know."

This time the sound was obviously a chuckle. "Then you'll learn new things. I learned. She'll learn, too. You'll teach each other. It's not easy without the others there, filling some of the roles. You're playing half the cast in a two man production with a dozen parts. But it is because of _you_ that there's still a show, Wesley."

Hope was not restored. It limped along and muttered, but it kept going. He did as well. "Then I'll do the best I can, for every person I'm supposed to be for her."

"Stout fellow."

"Thank you. Oh, let me give you the address where we'll be for a few days. We'll stay until we get the box, but I imagine more than two weeks isn't wise. Not yet." Wesley gave the address, and lingered on the phone, finally saying, "Tell Buffy- tell all of them- that I said hello."

"I will." The receiver clicked softly, and the dial tone sounded in his ear.

He mustered his courage and turned to leave the bar, shopping bags swinging with renewed confidence.

A little too much confidence.

"Hey, buddy? Buddy, you dropped your- uh... lipstick?"

"Ah. Yes. Not _mine_, but- yes, thank you." Wesley took the little tube from a man in a "My Son Can Punt Your Honor Student" cap, and both of them hurriedly parted.

"Many roles. Indeed." Wesley marched down the block, back to the store, back to the car, and shoved the bags into it. "I'm crossing personal shopper off the list, that's for bloody certain." He revved the car up and peeled off, back to their temporary home. He relented as he waited at a light, thinking of Giles heartening words. "Well... after she's well enough to get things herself."

* * *

Faith watched the programs switch, for the second time, marking the beginning of a second hour. _Not gone for long. Yeah. Right. How many guys have I known that said they were just grabbing something at the mini mart, stepping out for a smoke, and then... Not even a goodbye. Just gone._

Faith shrugged. So what if he left her? She had a place for a week. She could con her way into two or three. Well, if she had her makeup. Never underestimate he power of superhuman strength, and some smudgy shadow. Darker impulses, violent ways also sprang to mind, but she dismissed them as impractical right now, and dismissed the gnawing feelings of sorrow and guilt that came with them, emotions that she tried to shove down and pretend weren't there. Back to the present. You can't change the past, why be sorry for it? She sniffed in and squared her shoulders.

So, if he'd taken off, left her stranded- no big. _Might even be a good thing. God knows he's annoying. And he's all..._ Her thoughts faltered, searching for the words to describe him. _He's all 'here'. Supportive, intrusive. Pompous, stuck up, dictionary spewing asshole of a Carebear. _She wouldn't miss that at all.

It was simply a coincidence when she let out a huge breath and relaxed when she heard the key in the door.

"I'm sorry I took so long!" He burst through the door with an apology and armfuls of bulging bags. "I was mistaken for a novice drag queen by two elderly women who wanted to give me makeup tips, and then I needed a stiff drink, then I needed to let Giles know where to send my things, and it- ohh." He shook his head with eyes rolled towards heaven. "It was all very undignified. And I _hate _American beer."

"I would _kill_ for a beer." Faith enthused, and tried to wiggle off the couch. Didn't look too graceful.

"Hang on, I'll bring your things to you." Wesley quickly stopped her. He paused as he handed her the bag. "You don't need help with your makeup- do you?" He asked with obvious trepidation.

"Nah, I got this."

"Then I'll have my shave and shower, you have your - makeup."

"Yep. Oh, hey." Faith started opening boxes and tubes.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for getting this stuff." _And for coming back. At least this time._

"I'm here to help." Wesley smiled._ I'm trying. To help however you need me to help. Hard as that is to decipher._

* * *

"Good heavens. You look-" Wesley returned, dressed in a less wrinkled shirt and jeans.

"Human?" Red-black lips smiled at him, and black on black lashes fluttered.

"Charmingly so." He said drily.

"You don't look too bad yourself." Faith smiled and pushed herself into a standing position. _I was right. Not a cowboy, but denim works._ Using the arm of the sofa, she managed to keep standing, waiting for him to come and offer his arm, a gesture of chivalry she would have openly laughed at, if hadn't been the only thing between her and falling.

"Shall we drive around until we find a place that does a late seating?" Wesley asked, courtly but casual.

Faith took his elbow, and fluffed her newly presentable hair. "You're buying." She reminded him.

"With the money _you_ saved us."

"That's fair."

For once, they both seemed to be smiling at the same time- and at each other. It was split second, over in a blink. But it did feel good. It felt like something positive had begun.

_Don't kid yourself._ Faith's defenses never went down for long.

_A smile from her means nothing more than that she's pleased with things, in her own way, in her own mind. _Wesley's confidence rallied frequently, but fell just as often.

_Who cares? We can have one evening, just one, when there's nothing but two hungry people and a good meal. _

"After you." Wesley held the door for her.

"Damn straight."

But she leaned on him, he held her up, and they stepped into the night as one.

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Voting is open at Sunnydale Memorial, and Offers You Can't Refuse, the piece that spawned this one, and the piece that showed the beginnings of the F/W journey, is up for a number of awards. Thank you to all showed support and encouragement!_

_Dedicated to: Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, Sirius120, Naomi, Jewel74, and Jinxgirl. You guys rock!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part VI**

_Struggle_

"No, just the weapons and the clothes." Giles waved Buffy out of the flat's kitchen, and gave the instructions to his helpers. "Not _all _the clothes. Xander, Spike, you two have a look through his closet and see what you can find that's reasonably serviceable."

"For living with Faith? Does he have a bulletproof vest?" Buffy muttered.

"More boxes in the van." Oz and Willow came in, carrying two empty boxes each.

"I doubt he'll need more than six." Giles sighed, and began systematically emptying out a bookcase.

"This dude did not own a pair of sweats." Xander came out of the bedroom, shaking his head.

"Should send a suit or two." Spike came out as well. "Don't know what sort of place he'll end up in, might need to blend in with the corporate set."

"What do we do with all the furniture and the dishes and stuff?" Willow went to the second bookshelf and began stacking books into another box.

"He said to sell them to cover postage, but I imagine he could use most of the cash himself. Some of the bigger items I'll sell, but I don't think there's enough time to wait for a buyer this time. He and Faith won't be staying in one location for long."

"That's what happens when you travel with wanted killers." Buffy was emptying the small, neatly labeled weapons case, and Oz was wrapping each item she handed him in newspaper.

"Or escaping for your life." Spike came over to join them.

Buffy felt a pang for Faith. So lost. So dark. But there had been this crazy, cool, lust for life- okay lust for _everything_- person in there. _With a mega lot of twistiness. She never took her power and made it hers. I've been Slayer for longer and I _just_ got the hang of it. I kept backing down, trying to be normal. She let the power take her and make her out of control. Just what I was afraid would happen to me. _She leaned on Spike's chest as he stood behind her. "I'm glad he wants to help Faith, but-"

"Are you insane?" Xander shouted from the bedroom.

"Oi! Bad choice of words." Spike snarled.

"I just mean we're talking about Mayor lovin', professor murdering, trying to destroy everyone in this room- except Spike- Faith. I didn't want her to die, but I don't think a 'get out of jail free' card works either.

"What if she- what if she's not really changing?" Willow asked, her big doe eyes suddenly extra wide. "What if she attacks him?"

"Not a fan of Wesley." Buffy pouted at Giles, but her expression melted into one of concern. "But I am worried about him."

"I'm worried about him as well. I'm worried about everything anyone has mentioned." Giles sighed and began sealing one box.

There was silence of voices, but the scuffling of hands moving and packing.

"Do you think she'll hurt him?" Buffy finally broke the quiet, several minutes later.

"I honestly don't know." Giles smiled sadly. "But I know this is his choice, and he may be the reason she changes. She is certainly one of the reasons _he's_ changing." He shook his head. "He even asked me not to send the tea service... A Watcher without his tea service..." Giles trailed off, shaking his were no words he could find to express how wrong that seemed.

Later that night, when all the books and weaponry were packed, after a pile of underwear, teeshirts, socks, two suits, and everything approaching casual was boxed up, the boxes were loaded into Oz's van. "Post office isn't going to be open this late. You want to meet me there at ten tomorrow?" Oz asked Giles.

"Yes, splendid." Giles said distractedly. "All of you can meet back here tomorrow evening."

"Why?" Willow looked surprised. "Is there more packing?"

"Furniture and items you might want, you should take before I find someone to purchase the rest. I think he'd like it if what he left behind was useful to the people he- to you." Giles said briefly. "I'll go lock up. Good night all."

The teens and Spike stared after him. "I think he finally started to like him, and now he's gone." Willow looked sad. Nods all around.

"I guess that means we'll have to be annoyingly affectionate and want him to hang out with us all the time." Xander said brightly.

"Oooh. Three words. 'Mall photo booth'." Buffy said eagerly.

Spike lit up and sighed. "I refuse to get in there with all of you."

"Seconded." Xander said eagerly. They had a glaring match.

Buffy ended it. "Let's go home."

* * *

Giles packed the electric kettle, one blue willow cup and saucer, hesitated, then packed a second set, two spoons, the creamer, and sugar bowl. It didn't take up much room. They could always get rid of them if they chose.

He penned a quick note and folded it into one cup.

_You can fight the world's battles and all the demons you want, and still have time for tea._

_R.G._

* * *

Wesley woke up the next morning to a thud. "Faith!" He scrambled up, out of bed, in boxers and an undershirt, and automatically reached for his dressing gown- which was about a thousand odd miles away.

_We need to find a laundromat. _Wesley called her name again and got a grunted noise in reply as he searched for clean clothes. _Oh bother it!_ He hopped haphazardly on one foot as the other tried to get into the jeans he'd worn last night, and finally he stumbled through the door half clothed, concerned, and breathing unevenly.

Faith looked over her shoulder from the belly crawl position she was in, working her way down the hall from her room, heading towards their shared bathroom. "Well, hello, sailor. Usually the guys wait to see me before they start the heavy breathing." She said with a small smirk and closed over eyes.

"Well -I - you made a thud." Wesley concluded haltingly, turning and zipping up.

"Aww. And you panicked, in case I'd hurt my delicate little self?" Faith grunted and tried to drag her knees forward, putting herself into a kneeling position. No dice. Not without something to pull herself up on.

"Basically." Wesley maneuvered over her in the narrow hall, deliberately not looking down on her, on the black cotton briefs she was wearing, which were not at all concealed by the plain black tee shirt. While trying not to look, he was also trying not to touch. "Damnably small hallways..."

"No kidding." Faith felt his feet carefully picking their way around her, and surprisingly strong hands reach down and grip her elbows from behind. "I got it from here."

"Yes, I know you do, now push." Wesley huffed, supporting her full weight in the palms of his hands and crouched knees.

Think I did this position in the back of diner in Arkansas once, Faith thought with a perverse smile, but she kept the comments to herself. The smile faded. Back then, she wasn't letting guys pick her up like some wheelchair bound victim. Back then she was strong, and often as not, the one doing the picking up.

"I said I got it!" Faith snapped and pushed. Pushed off, pushed up, staggered forward and fell with a groan of pain.

"Faith!" Now he was angry. "I was helping you, why didn't you let me-"

"I'm strong, okay? I'm _supposed_ to be strong!"

"You're the strongest person on earth, but you're still in a human body." He pulled her up roughly, under the ribcage this time, earning himself a swift elbow to his own. "Stop that!"

"Get your hands off me!"

"If I stop holding you up, you'll fall and split open your face!" They were now in the threshold of the bathroom, and the pedestal sink with its jutting faucet loomed in trajectory if she went down now.

Her hands stopped reaching back and reached forward, bracing herself on the sink. "I'm not going to fall. So let go." She said in a low, dangerous voice. And like magic, he did.

It left her feeling vicious and irrational. _He seriously only did want me not to get hurt. He calls me strong, but he doesn't let me be stupid. _

Even though that made her mad in a way, because who the hell did he think he was, trying to control her actions, make her listen- _Save your ass, warn you, you mean? Damn, you didn't used to be so mad at everyone. _

_Yeah, I did. I just used to get in fights. Humans, demons, boys, girls, it didn't matter. _

"I don't claim to understand your frustration, how this angers you. I've never been partially paralyzed." _Except by internal forces, fear, cowardice, disapproval, obedience... Back on topic!_ "But if you don't stop fighting me, I -" _No. I won't be leaving. I won't be threatening. I won't be pleading, or groveling, either._ "I won't be able to help you get back to your full strength." Wesley told her back, speaking honestly, simply. "I know you could do it on your own. I know that you don't - need me." Such hard words. "Hrm. Maybe I need you, and that bothers you. It doesn't feel exactly comfortable for me. I just thought you should know. I'll leave you to it." He nodded jerkily and shut the door, separating them.

He walked slowly and stiffly back to his own room, then sat on the edge of the bed, putting his exhausted, aching head in his palms. "God, I need a cup of tea."

* * *

Made _him_ uncomfortable? Made her want to crawl out of her skin. She peed, and then dragged her self, using the shower stall door and the sink as support beams, into the shower, where she fell to her knees, unable to stand. Hands against the wall, she reached up to turn on the water, let it scald, let it freeze, before she could find the right balance. Then she just let it drown her, gulping and shaking, full force of the torrent on a caving, naked body that was buckling just from the effort of being semi-upright.

_He touched me. All over me._

Not on her skin. That would have been okay, sort of. But inside. In her head, in her- she didn't know. That thing they called a heart didn't have any soft openings where words could sneak in and make you feel.

_I don't cry. I don't cry. I do _not_ fucking cry._

So she hit. And she screamed silently.

_ I don't want to be weak, I don't want to be bad, I don't want to be good, forgiven, damned, alone, with someone. I don't fucking KNOW anymore, and I can't run away this time, and I can't fight this time. _

Deep shaking breaths that choked her, water going down the wrong way, coming back up in a splutter. Oh no. She never cried. Everything but.

_I don't want to die, but I suck at living like this._

* * *

She was in there for a very, very long time. But he didn't call for her. His insides were a tourniquet of worry, but he sat, ramrod stiff, blankly staring at a mug of hot water. How in the world had he not considered tea an essential supply?

He was about to crack and barge in, apologizing for whatever sins he didn't know he'd committed, or yelling in frustration because that was what life had taught him- that you either yell at those who don't perform to your standards, or you treat them with cold, silent disdain. Then the water turned off.

There was a rattle of the frosted glass door, a curse, and something that sounded like sliding against linoleum._ Well, she can handle herself._ He remained still.

"Yo... Um. Can you toss me some clothes?" Faith shouted through the shoebox-sized apartment.

"Certainly." Wesley answered civilly.

* * *

It took her forever to change in there, the space was cramped and she'd have to be half lying down for some of it. _But if she doesn't want me to assist, then- then I sit here, quietly going mad and wondering what to make for breakfast, instant soup, or Spaghetti-Os. Why didn't I buy bread?_ He fussed around the kitchen, looking for a can opener, or else the meal, odd as it was, would never get started, let alone eaten.

* * *

Faith put her fist through the wall in frustration after ten minutes of struggling in the small, steamy room, trying not to break her tailbone by falling off of whatever she was perching against. Fortunately for the landlord, her fist never penetrated the cheap walls, simply bruised her already weak hands. "What the hell am I doing?" She panted to herself as she slid down the wall for the tenth time.

* * *

She emerged, like some primordial creature, dragging herself along, sopping wet, clothes riding halfway down her hips, or halfway up her concave back, clinging and crinkled. Her wet hair trailed in tangled strands over her shoulders and down her face.

With a pained sound and a forced "whip" of her hair to the back of her neck, she looked up at him, fire in her eyes.

Wesley swallowed hard. _That's why I'll put up with her and her moods, and her anger. That fight, that fire. It's dark and intense and- frankly it's frightening, and -and how in God's name did I never notice that before? Eyes like that should shake your soul. I thought I was such a good Watcher, and I must've been going around with my eyes shut. _

_ Or maybe she never looked at me like that before..._

"You know what I want, Wes? I want-" She used the couch arm as a base and yanked herself from the ground. "I want to be what I was. What I used to be. You ask all these big questions and go real deep, and try to make things all nicey-nice between us, try to figure me out.." She laughed, a smartass smile on her face, cocky and overconfident, but not quite masking the tension and pain anymore. "Well, now you know what I want, why I'm 'uncomfortable'. I want to be what I was."

He nodded. "And what was that?"

Faith's jaw dropped slightly. _What? What the hell kind of question is that? I said it, bold, clear, any idiot could get the message. But not him. _He_ has to ask questions._

Simple ones. Ones she suddenly couldn't answer.

"I'm not arguing, I'm just asking, what was that? What you used to be?" Wesley asked quietly.

_I was evil. I was good. I was queen of the alleyways and bars no one goes in twice. I was a warrior. Thug, badass, easy, amazing. Killer. Betrayer. Friend? _

"Damn." She wouldn't answer, just turn glassy eyes out the window.

* * *

They ate soup in silence. They watched reruns in silence. Or to be more accurate, they both stared in the general direction of the television in silence, but no one "watched" anything. "This isn't helping you." Wesley finally couldn't stand it anymore.

_Thank God. _One more minute and she'd have started screaming just to see if her vocal cords worked. "I don't think I asked anyone to help me." She swallowed and looked guiltily at her lap. "Not today anyway..."

"If you'd please stop villainizing me- not that I don't deserve it -" He thought back to the last spring.

"Same here, Dude." Faith thought back to the same time period with a scoff and a shrug.

"-and just listen to what I'm actually saying, not what you think I'm going to say- this, sitting on the couch, isn't going to help you. Be what you what to be, what you used to be, whatever that was. I don't claim to know-"

She closed her eyes and laid her head back, "Me, either."

Momentarily stunned with her admission, Wesley mustered on, "I don't claim to know just what that was, but I know you used to be quite impressive on the field. And I think on the dance floor, from some things I overheard Willow and Buffy saying." A smile flickered across her face, then hardened. "The point was, whatever you used to be, you were mobile. You stood on your own two feet." _In more ways than one..._

Eyes reopened. "Hell yeah, I did." _Since forever ago._

"Then let's get off this couch and start training your leg muscles again. And your back, I know dozens of strength and control exercises, handed down from ancient-" Her glare caused the words to freeze in his throat. "Erhrm. Perhaps we could work on rebuilding your muscles after your injury?"

Yes, she needed to. And yeah, he did know a lot of stuff. "I remember the last time you tried to 'rehabilitate' me." She crossed her arms and scowled menacingly.

_Of course we are haunted by my failures. _He coughed and looked apologetic. "Ah, I-"

"You ran after me with a clipboard, you told me things like 'it happens', that accidents happened before with Slayers. And you sweated a lot. Dude, you wore a suit to work out! And you totally couldn't keep up."

Wesley blushed. "I don't have any suits this time. Nor clipboards. And I believe," he stood up, and took her hand, this time not waiting until she took his, simply seizing and tugging, "that I can 'keep up with you' this time."

"Hey, hey!" Faith faltered and batted at his arm when it caught her mid back, and pressed in. Her weakened muscles slowly responded, firming up. "What are you doing?"

"I thought we'd take a walk?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I can do about three steps, max."

"Then it'll be a short walk."

"You don't quit, do you?"

"It's tempting..." He guided her toward the door. "But no."

Something must've clicked in her mind. Maybe it was that her tangled thoughts were relegated to a constant chant of "One foot, other foot, other foot, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall." Or maybe it was hearing that reedy little twerp say he wouldn't quit.

_You know you're better than that._

_ I know I wanna be. If he doesn't quit, I can't. I won't._

"Am I going too fast?" Wesley asked, watching her feet intently.

"Nah. I'm gonna wipe the floor with you pretty soon." Faith limped along and boasted with a sardonic eye roll.

"That's the spirit." His eyes roved from her determined face to her obviously struggling legs. "You tell me if you need to rest."

"Hey. If you don't quit... I won't quit."

"I swear, I -"

"Don't. Don't swear." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head, fighting through the pain that was growing with each small step. "People swear they will, or they won't, or whatever. Just makes it worse when they screw you."

They paused in the parking lot, leaning against the car. He would give her a breather, whether she admitted she needed one or not. "Fine. I won't swear. But I refuse to quit. As long as you press on, so do I."

Faith panted and nodded, back arching against the car. _This might be his plan. Tire me out so bad I can't argue with him or call him on that cheesy noble-loyal thing he's trying on me. _

"Believe me." Wesley murmured to the white-blue Nebraska sky, not looking at her . _You don't have to believe_ in _me, or even believe I can do it. Just believe that I mean what I'm saying. _

Faith finger-combed her hair back from her face. _How long has it been since you've believed in anything? Including yourself?_

She honestly thought, honest- that even if he failed, and he probably would, that at least he would have tried to do everything he could, and wouldn't give up until she kicked him out or worse. But he didn't need to know all that stuff. He knew her scarily well already, and it unnerved her.

"C'mon, Coach. Keep walkin' me around the bases." Faith gestured she was ready to go again.

Wesley grinned and took her arm again, other hand on her back. "That's American baseball, correct? I played cricket at school. I was actually quite good..."

"Ohhh." Faith groaned. "You're not gonna torture me with stories about sports, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good. So, where are we- walking to?" Her question came out in two ragged breaths.

"The bar." He raised one brow. "You did say you would kill for a beer, didn't you?"

_After everything I do and say and did, this guy listens, and he still wants to buy me a beer? _"Totally. Talk about motivation." Faith smiled. For one unguarded second, eyes met. Eyes smiled.

"You have to walk there first, so... on we go." He encouraged.

"Working on it." Faith winced. "Hey, Wes?"

"Hm?"

"You wanna tell me about cricket? I don't know anything about that shit."

"Oh..." He was startled, unable to make a full sentence for a moment. "Oh. Ah. Yes. Sure."

"Cool. You know. Just until we get to the bar."

* * *

_To be continued... _


	7. Chapter 7

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Last week to vote at Sunnydale Memorial Awards. Offers You Can't Refuse, the piece that spawned this one, and the piece that showed the beginnings of the F/W journey, is up for a number of awards. Thank you to all showed support and encouragement!_

_Author's Second Note: If you're thinking- "my gosh, these two seem to rehash and restate a lot of issues", you're right. They do, and they will. If you've ever made a huge life change, you might have done the same thing, because everything is new and terrifying, and you probably have doubts, questions, or you just need to figure stuff out. Or maybe you have to keep reassuring yourself that this is the right choice. It becomes less frequent as the piece goes on, but give them one or two more chapters for it to sink it. Much appreciation. _

_Dedicated to: Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, Jewel74, Sirius120, Helenluvsboo, Kathryn Merlin and Jinxgirl. You guys rock!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part VII**

_Fear_

The next two days passed in an odd sort haze. Both of them were antsy after traveling, uneasy companions on the run suddenly grinding to a halt in this backwater stretch of the city.

They walked. They walked through parks and parking lots and on sidewalks. He made her climb stairs at one of the local business offices, stopping every few steps, until she made one flight- then doing it again. He taught her stretches, and told her why they worked and what muscles they were rebuilding- and she didn't give a rat's ass.

"Just get me better, okay?" She'd say tersely after each information session. He'd muffle a sigh and stop himself from rolling his eyes, and help her do something else.

Like sleep. Her body was like a newly emerged butterfly's, though Wesley imagined she'd kill him by sheer mental force if he ever told her he'd thought such a thing. But the similarities were there. After the girl had spent a month in a coma, her newly awoken body exhausted easily. Several days in a car had let her rest, and now after less than hour of concentrated exertion, she was ready to pass out.

She never stopped at that point. She pushed on into a second hour, before Wesley would call a halt to their training. He had to, he knew she would literally pass out trying, rather than admit she needed a break.

"I have to pop into the laundromat, now that I've found one. And the leasing office. Perhaps our packages have arrived." That was the excuse he used on the third day as they worked their way through a small side street park.

"Okay. You- do- what you... need to do." Faith's torso heaved, and she sat heavily on the nearest bench.

"We have to get you home first."

Home? There was no home. There was a crummy rental, like everywhere else she'd lived in the past ten years. "I guess it is home." Faith murmured, and lifted her damp hair off her neck. Wordlessly, he caught it, collected it into a twist and put an elastic band in it. The ponytail hung low and slanted, but it made her feel cooler. "Thanks." She gave him a grudging half-smile.

"Not at all." He sat beside her and handed her the bottle of water he'd been carrying. She took it easily, and they sat until she'd finished it. "Ready?"

"Sure." She pushed herself up- and stood.

"Faith!" He almost bounced up and down, completely unmanly and undignified, and not really caring.

"Oh my God! Check me out! Check me _out_!" Faith openly laughed in giddiness she'd later find humbling. To be so excited to stand without leaning on someone or something was the low point of a Slayer's career. For her, for now, it was a major step up from kissing dirt whenever you tried.

"You've done it! I told you you would!" Wesley was equally exuberant.

People passing in the park stared for a second as they passed this squealing couple. The couple in question paid no mind.

Faith threw her arms in the air, eyes sparkling, huge, "I'm back, baby!" smile on her face- and careened forward.

She didn't even realize it at first, she was floating, she was triumphant- she was falling.

For a few seconds, the man who'd been trained to look down on showing emotion, and the girl who scorned it- shared an impulsive, accidental hug in the middle of the park.

"I- hrm. This is a marked improvement." Wesley pulled back and adjusted his glasses, as though nothing had happened.

"I'll be kicking asses in no time." Faith grinned, and refused to look at him, instead looking in the distance towards their temporary apartment. "We gotta go if you want to do your delicates, Wes." Inwardly she was trying to figure out which was worse, the fact that she would have fallen and he would have caught her, or the fact that they inadvertently, conveniently "hugged".

_Either option, I end up in the same place._

_ I wonder if he thought that was a hug, or just holding me up?_

Back to wondering which was worse...

* * *

She seemed to fall asleep faster and harder, looking more drained than he liked. _But she's standing on her own two feet. Five seconds at a time, but without support._

_ Was she so overjoyed she- she allowed herself to - to celebrate for one single moment?_

_ Or was she losing her balance?_

_ Either way, at least I was there for it. For her._

* * *

He did their laundry while she slept, purchasing little boxes of soap powder with quarters from some sort of vending machine, then feeding all the change he had left into the washer. He sat in the corner of the dingy room, listening to the thrumming of the machines, trying to tune out the inane talk shows and the gossiping of other patrons.

_What do we do once the boxes arrive? We can move on, move away. We have to. She doesn't feel safe being in one place for too long. Thusly, a new place._

_ What'll we do there? Wherever "there" is._

_ She'll heal. She's coming along quickly. _He allowed himself a smile. _Wonderfully well._

_ What do we live on? I can ruin my credit. They're hardly likely to catch me and demand payment. It's already all extracted, all in cash._

_ But that runs out eventually. _

He felt a momentary resentment. They'd been willing to pay him for simply watching over her as she rehabilitated, asking for help if she became violent, something he'd have done anyway. _I could have kept being paid, direct deposits into my account. She wouldn't even have had to know, I'd never ask her to patrol in this condition, and if eventually she wants to fight the evil in the world again, she would still be doing the duty of a Slayer, and I the duty of a Watcher, and therefore deserving of a paycheck!_

He leaned his head back against the lint-filmed wall. _Fallows was more than reasonable. No pressure for her to get back to the job, and no pressure on me to do anything except help her heal and report back. _

_ Report on her. Even in the nicest way. Putting her, and therefore us, back in their control, if only in the most minor capacity. Which is why I turned him down. _Wesley let out a deep sigh.

_She's all that matters. All I really want is for her to trust me. She didn't trust the Council, and nor do I, not fully, not after Travers. If I can't separate myself from them, for her sake, then she's not the most important priority. _

_ She wasn't before, but now she is._

* * *

He was resolute. Determined. Even cheerful, remembering the momentary embrace, the night stroll to the bar, chatting about cricket, one or two smiles shared.

Then, as he was walking home, "Damn it all. My visa..."He swore a vein in his neck was near to bursting as he counted yet one more astronomically large problem he'd have to deal with or avoid.

He swallowed. _Oh well. She's a fugitive. I suppose I could be one, too. Murder, deportation... _Another swallow. _Running continuously suddenly seems very attractive._

* * *

Faith didn't like the way he acted that night. Quiet, edgy, easily distracted, forgetting to cook until her already shrunken stomach made a noise loud enough to be heard over a commercial.

"Hmm? What was that?" Wesley lifted his chin from his knuckles. He'd been sitting in a variety of "Thinker" poses all evening.

"I got it." Faith forced herself up. _Alright. Standing, two for two._

_Walking- _

"Faith, be careful!"

_-not so much. _

"Perhaps a walking stick?" Wesley ignored her comment of "Floor, thirty, Faith, zero" and helped her up.

"No way! I'm not some old lady or some rich dude." Faith spat. "I just need something to lean on for a couple more days." _Or weeks._

"Ergo, walking stick." Wesley said patiently.

"I don't want to look like some easy target." She informed him through locked jaws.

_Of course. Because she still thinks in terms of fighting, of being hurt or hurting. _He sighed, and then had a flash of insight. "What about a quarterstaff?"

"A what now?"

"It's a weapon. It's a long, sturdy wooden staff, varying between six and eight feet long in the English tradition, smaller or larger in other countries, depending on the relative height of the-"

"Mr. Info, geez!" Faith halted him. "I get it. It's a big stick."

"But it's a weapon."

"You seriously think the Scooby squad packed a six to eight feet long hunk of wood to Fed Ex out here?" She arched her brows cynically.

"Oh. True." Wesley released her as they entered the kitchen, and she propped herself against the fridge as he mucked around in the small cabinet, deciding which canned entree they would have. "I suppose I could find one. Buy one."

"With what?" She pointed out.

The quiet and edginess came back.

* * *

She lay awake, thinking that night.

_Damn. I thought he was going to be predictable. One of the easy ones. _

_ Easy marks, you mean,_ corrected a dark, snide voice.

_Yeah, well whatever. He didn't act like himself today. Not like I know who he'd even act like. It's always an act with people, isn't it? _

_ Nine times out of ten. _

_ Stupid to think he'd be that one. Not one in ten, more like one in ten thousand._

She wanted to huff and roll over, but her muscles protested loudly, and went into spasms, full body ones that made tears rush to the corners of her eyes, and gasp weakly when they finally subsided.

_But pain is weakness leaving the body, right? _She recalled the motto with a shake of her head._ I'm almost there. Soon I'll be walking on my own, and then, I'll walk away, right out that front door. _

_ To do what?_

_ Kill the good guys? Kill the bad guys? _She tossed her head in the darkness, eyes still wide and staring at emptiness._ See, you can't go back to being normal after you're a Slayer. You have all this power, and you know you want to use it. _

_ So maybe I don't use it for awhile, maybe I just have it if I need it. I hit the road. I drift. Live off my wits. It's not a bad gig. They write rock songs about chicks like me. _

Her eyes finally closed.

The stupid voice in her head wouldn't take the hint.

_ You realize you feel totally sick when you think about that, right? Like you wanna heave your guts up. You realize you dread it? _

It's not an easy life, okay? Faith told herself, and then mumbled aloud, "Dude. I am turning schizo. Talkin' to myself now..."

_You know why? _

Faith blotted the sound out, blacked out everything, forcing herself not to think, not to feel, just to breathe, and try to let sleep take her back into oblivion.

Too late. She already knew the reason, knew what her subconscious wanted her to realize.

_I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be some nothing. I want - I don't want anything fancy, but I want not to hurt. I want to trust someone again. I want to trust me again. _

_ And I don't think I can do that by myself._

* * *

He thought she could fend for herself, just for the time it took to make a short call, surely. Anxiously he paced by her door, but dared not peek in. He thought he'd heard her up, well after midnight, and now it was barely six in the morning. As easily worn out as she was, he felt it was a safe bet that she was still sleeping.

Wesley hadn't slept at all. His lean frame looked quite gaunt that day, dark circled eyes, rough, quick gait and determination in his jaw and his glinting eyes. He left the flat and hurried to the call box that was in the shopping center they'd passed on the way into town. He walked there, because he didn't want Faith to wake up and see the car was gone and assume the worst of him.

_She does that enough already. _

_ I'll make her see._

* * *

His call would have been terribly early for someone in the states, but just perfect for a call to London.

"Please let them still be interested." Wesley muttered anxiously to himself as hes pushed zero on the number pad.

"Operator, city and state, please."

"London, England."

A pause. "One moment, please."

"Overseas operator, city and state, please."

Wesley groaned softly. "London, England."

"Please state if you're trying to contact an individual or business."

"Business."

"What listing, please?"

"Trans-Lex Global Publishing."

"One moment. We're directing your call."

Wesley waited impatiently, and fed the machine another quarter. "I never realized living with no fixed abode required so much change. I'll have to go back to the laundromat and use their change machine." He mumbled as he waited.

"Good afternoon, Trans-Lex Global Publishing, how may I direct your call?"

Wesley heaved the first sigh of relief. Contact. "Yes, Mr. Barnolden, please. It's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"I'll see if Mr. Barnolden is available."

Another eternity consisting of thirty seconds, followed by his second sigh, as a brisk voice said "Barnolden speaking."

"Yes, Mr. Barnolden. I'm not sure if you'll remember me, but you spoke to the dean of my house a few years ago, requested that I come in for an interview?"

Across the Atlantic, a rather stout, fair-haired man frowned and scratched his mustache. It was unusual for him to recall a particular person in a staff of hundreds and interviews of thousands, yet that name seemed to ring a bell. "Are you the Cambridge fellow who spoke flawless Mandarin, Urdu, and Portuguese?"

"I believe it was Cantonese, b-but I can speak Mandarin if you prefer." Wesley heard his voice shrinking back into the timid little crawler he'd always been when addressing an authority figure- or a prospective one.

Oh yes, the chap who'd turned him down on the spot, saying he already had a position, he'd only come in as a favor to his dean. It was like seeing a million pounds in your office and being told it was already earmarked for another. Chap was bloody brilliant at languages, written and spoken. Some rare ones, too, and your basic Greek and Latin, an all rounder.

Barnolden coughed. "I'd love it if you could, but that's hardly why you called, is it? Not just to flaunt your dialects in our faces."

"No, of course not. Hrm." Wesley shook the scared little man out of his voice, and replaced it with the harder, more survival-driven man he needed to be. "You offered me a very good entry level position straight out of university, which I had to decline. However, my situation has changed, and I'm calling to see if you still have an opening for a translator."

Barnolden blinked, then smiled. If he was serious, he'd even go so far as to say the heavens opened and beams of light shone forth. To have someone like that Cambridge lad would be a jewel in Trans-Lex's crown. "To the point. I like that. No time wasters, we're a busy company."

"Indeed." He squashed his impulse to pander and fawn.

"Well... I believe we kept your information on file. Most people who apply only speak a handful of languages, write even fewer, but you..." There was the sound of papers rustling and keys being clicked. "How many was it?"

"Sixteen." _Sixteen human. Sixty four demonic. _Wesley preened in his head.

Barnolden thanked his lucky stars. "Do you speak Russian? Remind me, I'm still looking for your original CV."

"Russian was one of them, yes. Belarusian and Ukranian influenced languages as well."

Barnolden was nearly salivating. "I have a medical textbook that I need translated from English to Mandarin and Russian. You also had some medical training, didn't you? Were you the one?"

"I have had some basic medical training, yes." _All Watchers have. _

"Amazing. Dash it where is that file? Winston, Winterbrook, Wipple-" More angry clicking.

"Wyndham- Pryce with a Wy, Mr. Barnolden."

"Ah!" Another few clicks, and then a handful of satisfied grunting sounds, followed by a contemplative "Hmmm". "When could you start?"

"In a few days." Wesley cleared his throat. "That is, if your original offer still stands?"

"The pay scale is still per page per translation, certain, more uncommon languages being on a slightly higher scale."

"That's good to know, but I meant, when I had my interview, you said Trans-Lex Global was an ideal job, because it allowed workers to make their own hours-"

"Provided you meet your deadlines, yes." Barnolden interjected.

Wesley continued, "- from anywhere in the world."

"Well... anywhere in the world where you have internet access, certain language software, and an email address." Barnolden confirmed, his sandy mustache bristling, head cocking. "You were in the city a few years ago, weren't you? I thought you mentioned taking another job in London?"

"I've moved since. To the United States. And I'd rather like to remain here. Indefinitely. Possibly permanently." _Depending on how short the remained of my life is..._

"Ah." Barnolden smiled. "Met an American girl, did you?"

"You could say that..."

* * *

_He didn't say he was going out._ Faith felt an odd sensation creeping into her middle. _Abandoned. Again._

_Like I need him. _

She did her combat crawl to the living room, past his open door, and grunted her way to a stand. Looking out into the parking lot she saw the car remained, and the queasy, uncertain feeling slowly melted away.

_Dude. You are _way _too hung up on this guy. Just some other person in your life one day, out of it another. _

_ Maybe. But I -_ Faith stood, framed in the window, enjoying being able to stand without wobbling for minutes at a time now.

_But what?_

_ But I was sorta hoping that he meant it. Meant everything. About support. Sticking around. Not like it's a big deal. I was just hoping it was true._

Faith's more cynical self was silent, nothing left to say that hadn't been tossed around inside her brain for most of the night last night.

* * *

"Good morning." Wesley bustled in to the flat with a container of coffee and two muffins. "There's a bakery in that shopping center we passed on the way into town. I got blueberry and chocolate chip. I'm not sure which is which now, and the coffee may be cold."

"It probably is!" Faith used the wall to inch along toward him, face showing surprise. "That shopping center's a couple miles away, and you walked."

"Is it that far?" Wesley shrugged. He couldn't tell her that he feared for her emotional well being or sensitivities and had left the car as a sort of promise to return. She'd say she didn't need his reassurance. That she didn't need him. He didn't want to hear that, considering he was moving heaven and earth to meet their combined needs. "Lovely day for a walk. Speaking of which- you look like you're more steady today." He nodded to her legs.

"Every muscle in my body feels like it's coming off a three day bender." Faith dispensed with her tough facade for a moment, and moaned and winced as she sank into a chair.

"Typically a rubdown with some sort of therapeutic oil is recommended after vigorous trainings. Given the circumstances, I'd say your walks have that distinction."

"So let's buy a bottle of baby oil, then." Faith rubbed a knot in her calf.

"I'll see if I can manage to remember that on today's walk." He grinned.

"You could've mentioned this before. Last night my whole body did an arch off the bed that's usually reserved for guys with pierced tongues. Only this time it hurt like a mother. Wicked painful." She rubbed the base of her spine.

His mind careened at her words, and then righted itself with a simple, factual "I'm sorry, I should have thought of it earlier."_ Only Slayers usually can rub their own aching legs and arms, and her aches are everywhere- and she still can't brush the back of her hair without assistance. I think offering to give her any sort of rub down would end with _both _of us needing some sort of therapeutic remedy._

"No boxes today. Are you sure they sent them?" Faith asked, taking whichever muffin was closest, she didn't care, and sipping the cold coffee before he could push her hand away and take the cup to reheat in the microwave.

"I'm positive. It is quite early, the delivery trucks probably haven't made their rounds." He poured the newly hot coffee evenly into two of the battered white mugs provided.

"You always have this much faith in people?" Faith shook her head with an almost pitying smile.

"Only certain ones." His lips pursed slightly in a hint of a knowing smile before focusing on his breakfast.

She sipped her own coffee, and felt some unfamiliar emotion, something missed and missing. _I think he means me. With the superior smile and everything, probably thinks I didn't see it. Cocky bastard. I'll show him._

_ Show him what?_

"Is the coffee too strong? Would you like sugar?" Wesley saw her sudden frown. "Disregard that. I didn't pick up any while I was there."

"It's fine. Just- had something stuck in my throat." Faith reassured hastily, and gulped the rest down to prove it. "What're we doing today?"

_We. All the juggling will be worth it. As long as there's a "we" at the end of this difficult beginning._

* * *

The packages arrived late in the afternoon, earning them an ill-tempered pounding on the door from the landlord. "The whole front office is fulla boxes for you."

"The whole-" Wesley looked alarmed and followed the man from the flat in a rush, leaving Faith, exhausted after a morning's training, asleep on the couch._ Heavens, I told him just what would fit in the car..._

"Well... maybe not the _whole_ office, but about half of it. Got six big shippin' boxes."

Wesley sighed in relief. Unpacked, perhaps repacked, moved about, he imagined they'd fit in that roomy boot and backseat of their car.

"Sign here."

"Oh, yes, of course." Wesley signed the sheet held out to him.

"Get those out of here."

"Ah, well, I don't suppose you could-"

"I got lumbago."

"Right." The proprietor disappeared into the back, and Wesley sighed._ Six trips lugging heavy boxes. Actually nowhere as difficult as the other things I've done lately._

* * *

Faith miraculously slept through most of the grunting and shifting, waking up as Wesley slid the last box home, and wiped his brow. "Hm? Oh, hey. Mail." She scooted herself into a sitting position.

"Indeed." Wesley went to the kitchen and came out again with a knife to start opening the boxes.

"Slide me one." Faith held out her hands.

"Let me finish opening them all first." Wesley quickly slit each box, and then pushed two across the floor to her. "Don't unpack everything just yet. I'll have to get some sort of system in place for easy access to the most frequently used books, and for most used weapons."

It was as he said the word "weapons", that they both realized what Wesley might have unthinkingly done.

_I just handed her a box. At least one box, probably two, have a variety of swords, knives, stakes, crossbows, and other archaic weaponry, impractical for most humans, essential for slayers. _

_ There's a one in three chance I just handed a former murderer- who has regained basic use of her muscles, something to shoot me with. _

Faith's fingers pried open the box. She could see him cast a single glance at her, and then lower his head, back to his own package, lifting out a few heavy books, peering inside. Ignoring her. Ignoring what was now in her hands.

Heavy polished wood, silver tipped arrows, a thick black string just waiting to be pulled taut, loaded, fired. She felt like she watching in a film in slow motion. One thumb came up, and clicked the rich mahogany safety off.

_He's sitting five feet away. You have a clean shot. And this,_ Faith ran her finger across the tip of the arrow, and it came away bloody, t_his is a thing of beauty. This is meant to slice open a werewolf, meant to cut through a vamp like butter... He'd be dead before he hit the ground._

She put it down carefully, sucking the crimson off her finger with it's surprisingly deep gouge, and sifting through the box with her free hand. She stole a swift glance at him, still bent over books. Sweat trickled down his brow. She blinked as something wet blurred her vision. She was sweating, too.

Wesley stifled a sigh when she closed the box, looking at him with a pale, strained smile. "You have some grade A slay tools, Wes." She praised. "Why didn't you ever tell me you had stuff like this?"

"I was silly about them, I suppose. And I never thought you'd be interested."

He was right. She wouldn't have wanted anything from him. "Probably not."

"But you're welcome to them now."

"Thanks."

Wesley looked at her more closely. Not just pale, but pale and sweating. Almost clammy. Breath coming out too quickly. "Faith?"

"I- uh- woo." She gave him another smile, an uneasy, quivering one. "Must've had some bad Chinese last night."

"We had the same meal. I feel fine. Are you sure you-"

"I think I'm gonna go back and hit the sheets again." Faith stuck her thumb over her shoulder, indicating her bedroom. She rose unsteadily, and walked, using the couch back as a guide rail, and then seamlessly switched to leaning on him. He was magically, perfectly, in the right place once more.

"You don't look well." His face inches from her, he could see it much more clearly now.

"Don't feel well." She said shortly.

His face changed, no more concern for himself, for what he'd inadvertently done, or what she might have done. "Do you need the doctor?"

"No. No, I'll be fine in a couple minutes. Maybe longer." _Don't think. Don't talk about it. Why did you have that damn thought in your mind? God, what's wrong with you? _

"You're shaking. You- your hand is bleeding." Wesley's hand had somehow been clasped in hers as she pushed off of him entering her room, stumbling forward to the narrow bed.

_Blood on my hands. Can't get it off. Always a murderer. It's _in_ me. Something twisted and- and loving it. The rush, the finality, the power... _"I cut it on an arrow."

"Ah. Some are very fine silver." He unthinkingly followed her, shirt tail coming up, finding her hand, wrapping around it.

"Stop!" Faith reacted with a violent twitch, both hands trying to jerk away, eyes frantic.

"I don't have any bandages." He soothed. "Hold it there for a moment, then I'll get a cloth from the bathroom."

"It's all over you. It's getting on you." Faith was still weaker than him. When she tugged backward, all that happened was that her shoulders burned and her fingers ached.

"It washes off. It's only a shirt." Wesley met her eyes, and refused to look away. "It will heal." He said quietly, firmly.

Her brain had turned and whirled and twisted everything she thought and everything he said, everything anyone said for so long, that suddenly nothing but the truth was left. It came spilling free.

"I don't want blood on my hands anymore." She choked out.

"I believe you."

"You - you think you know." She shook her head.

"No, I don't think that at all. I'm willing to learn, willing to listen." He said sincerely.

"I could kill you." She gasped out, airway constricting. "Don't you know that? Don't you see it? Can't you see I'm-" _Scared to death. Not of any monster. Well, not any monster _he_ could see. Only the one inside me..._

"Shh. Yes, I know, yes, I see. But you didn't."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She laughed, an edge of hysteria in her voice. _I'm not scared to die, Im not scared to fight, when it's all happening around me, it feels like the best red hot rush in the world, head rush, body rush, blood pulsing, and now- it doesn't make me feel better that _one time _I didn't pull the trigger. It makes me feel like I'm freezing inside, knowing that I could do it, just sitting there, not in a fight, not with some baddie- sitting in some cheap apartment, with the only person still speaking to me._ "If that's supposed to be some cure, Wes-"

"No. It's just supposed to be the first step."

"Don't make this into some twelve step program." Faith growled warningly, frustrated, unable to accept sympathy or comfort, not for more than a second at a time, even as she shook inside her own skin, and knew she needed both.

"It's not a program. It's a - it's a long walk, Faith. I know you could do it alone."

_No, I couldn't. You're stupid if you think I could, I don't even think I can. I say I can, but- I know I do whatever feels easiest, because everything is always so hard I can't tell the difference anymore._

"But I'm on my own hard, lonely walk." He told her softly. _Or am I running away? It doesn't matter. Running from one thing will always lead to something new, either way, it's just another journey._ "I told you I need you. You told me you want to be what you were."

"But I don't know what-" She began to protest.

"You don't need to. Just keep walking, one step at a time."

Faith said nothing.

He tried to entreat her, but words lodged in his throat. _I gave her a weapon, I gave her a target. Why am I afraid to merely speak? _

_ We both have to face these fears._

"Faith? Walk with me? I don't claim to know where the path goes. I only know, I want you with me. Please. Walk. With me."

She gripped his hand, both hands, his and hers, now bloody, both now squeezing, putting a thousand desperations into one gesture. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Last week to vote at Sunnydale Memorial Awards. Offers You Can't Refuse, the piece that spawned this one, and the piece that showed the beginnings of the F/W journey, is up for a number of awards. Thank you to all showed support and encouragement!_

_Author's Second Note: Picks up immediately after the last chapter. Things may have seemed like they were getting better between Faith and Wesley, but please remember how suspicious and guarded Faith is right now. She's especially wary of herself, of her decisions to trust or change. I hope you can understand her actions in this chapter, bearing that in mind.  
_

_Dedicated to: Sirius 120, Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, and Jewel74. Thank you for the support!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part VIII**

_Caution_

They left the boxes after that small, but intense moment of agreement. Unlike their previously tentative breakthroughs, Wesley felt none of his usual pomposity "Aren't I a wonderful Watcher" attitude return. _Faith agreed to make a journey, a journey you've no real guidelines for, but she didn't agree to trust you, she didn't say she'd never change her mind. It wasn't as though you could promise to be worthy of her loyalty or her friendship. You've had about two weeks to make up for months of mismanagement. For even thinking she was something to be "managed"!_

He left her falling into a fitful sleep, full of fluttering lids, and half-formed moans.

* * *

She slept, and he walked down to the pharmacy once more, in search of baby oil or something better for her spasming muscles, and bandaids so he wouldn't have to use a towel next time one of them got a cut.

_Or something worse. Perhaps I'd better get some proper supplies instead._

"How'd that lipstick work out for you?" One of the elderly women who had pursued him through cosmetics obviously remembered him from the last time, and greeted him when he came into the store.

"It's not for- _wasn't_ for, that is, I bought it for my-" He gave up. "It's splendid. Very fetching, thank you. Can you direct me to your baby or massage oils section, and also the first aid kits?"

"Aisle seven and aisle thirteen." She replied shaking her head. "Honey... you be careful out there, okay?"

Wesley flushed to the roots of his hair. "Believe me. I'm the soul of caution." _Except around her. If Faith were here, she'd find this highly amusing. _The thought of her laughing, even at his expense, made him smile.

* * *

The next morning, he was out at dawn again, off to make a phone call to his (if everything went well) new employer.

"Trans-Lex, Barnolden."

"Mr. Barnolden, good- afternoon." Wesley corrected for the time difference. "It's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. I have an address where you can send the employment paperwork, and the software."

"Splendid, Pryce. However, first there are a few things to discuss..."

* * *

It was a long phone conversation, and one that he didn't want to have in the middle of a shopping center. Matters of his current visa- "I have one that expires shortly.", a new visa- "Our New York office makes the application for you. If you can let me know your specifics, Mr. Pryce- may I call you Wesley?- we can apply for an extension on your current one, with a transference from whatever class it is to an B-1."

"I'm lost." Wesley admitted. The Watchers Council had always taken care of those details for him.

"B-1. Person with business connections. We'll list you as our hire, but reporting jointly to the New York branch and London office, living in the US."

Matters of his payments, "We do direct deposit upon completion and remittance of your translated work. You can submit it via email or fax if you'd like, or mail it the old fashioned way. If you do post it, be sure to allow for shipping time so you still meet your deadline."

Matters of when he could begin, _actually_ begin, not simply be hired. "I'll have to purchase a laptop and wait for your software."

"I'm glad you're technologically savvy."

He wasn't. But it was one more hurdle on his path, so he accepted it. "Ah. Yes, well... I love languages. Any tools that help me with my translations are welcome."

"We'll send everything you need to fill out to your address ASAP, then you can get started properly." Barnolden then rattled off a list of over a dozen documents that made Wesley's head swim. "Any questions?"

"When will it arrive?"

"If we post it today, express air mail... a week or so. I don't suppose you have a fax?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. But that's fine. I'll stay here until I get your package, and then I'll have it back by return post."

* * *

"You're back. More muffins?" Faith greeted him, sitting on the couch, box in front of her.

"Muffins as promised." He presented the bakery bag to her.

"Hey. You got mail." Faith nudged the box over to him. "Someone's popular."

He looked at the stack of paper atop this particular box. "It's not all mail. Giles sent along all my important documents that I'd left behind." Wesley sat across from her, and began lifting out the bundles, one of his forwarded post, one of his personal papers. Birth certificate. Council and diplomatic papers. Passport. Bank statements. Visa paperwork. He sighed.

"What's up?"

"My visa. It was granted by an arrangement the Council makes for Watchers in various countries. It's a diplomatic issue, and since I've told them they can consider us effectively resigned- I'm losing it. It may already be revoked, I'd have no way of knowing without contacting them again." He turned the sheaf of papers in his hands, and then replaced it on the ground beside the rest. He knew he had that issue potentially sorted, but it was the weeks in between a new visa arriving and his old one expiring that worried him.

Faith's suspicions always rose more quickly that her nearly non-existent trust._ I know you want to go all sunshine on me, but don't be stupid, okay? _Her ingrained cynicism warned.

_ I can't help it. I want to trust someone. I want to have- what he has. Odd as that is. He practically pushes the knife into my hand, and then stays there, waiting for me to take a stab. Knowing I won't. Believing I won't. Believing in me..._

I want to trust him,_ Faith told the old inner demons who constantly clamored. But I don't want to get hurt again._

"So... if we keep moving, it's not like they're gonna find you, is it? I mean, you don't look dangerous. You have a real pretty boy streak. Are they really gonna send the border patrol after one British dude in a suit?"

"Hardly." Wesley answered offhandedly. He was reading another piece of mail now, and he kept blinking at it, as if he couldn't comprehend.

"Wes?" Faith prompted.

"Hm?" He didn't lift his eyes from the multipage document he was absorbed in.

"The visa thing? What's that mean?"

"Oh... something will work out. Excuse me a moment." Wesley took his papers in his arms, and headed off to his bedroom, without a single backward glance for her.

* * *

The "moment" turned into a few hours. When he returned later, the glassy, vacant eyes were gone, but he definitely wore a sober demeanor. Faith hated it. That attitude meant bad news in her mind.

"You bummin' about the visa thing?" Faith demanded without preamble.

Wesley, caught off guard, had to admit he was.

"So you don't work for the Suits, they don't let you stay here?" That worried her more than she'd like to admit. She didn't want to admit it worried her at all.

"No, and they don't pay me. That's an equally daunting, and more immediate problem." Wesley informed her._ Even with a job lined up, payment was rendered upon approval of submitted work. _He ran over the timeline, figuring how long he'd have to wait for his first check._ A week or so to get the materials to fill out, a week for them to be returned, and then perhaps a few days, maybe even a few weeks, to do a translation, and awhile after it was submitted to receive payment. _

_ But at least a job is lined up. And there was a bit of a windfall in the mail, that was true, but who knows how long it takes for all the paperwork and transfer- _Faith's suddenly harsh, challenging voice stopped his train of thought.

"So what do you want me to do?" She challenged. _Here it comes. It all sinks in after the guy is done doing the rescuing, and it's time to get down to brass tacks, like where am I gonna live, am I in any danger, how do I pay bills, how do I not get arrested?_

"What? There's nothing you can do, I'm afraid. You don't want to rejoin Council's ranks, and if _you_ won't work for them,_ I_ won't work for them. If that means no steady paycheck, so be it." He walked past her to the kitchen. _It must be lunchtime._ _I really must do a better job of preparing more healthful meals. _Slayer bodies have a high metabolism, they need fuel, he reminded himself.

_He walks away. Doesn't even want to be in the same room suddenly?_ Faith got a disgusted sneer on her face, though he couldn't see it. "You want me to say I'll do it, that I'll go back?"

His head popped through the doorway, surprised eyebrows rising over elegant, academic lenses. "Of course not. I don't want you to do anything of the sort. It's just something that's a by-product of our decisions. Fallows- he replaced Travers-" he reminded her, "understands our reasoning. If you ever do decide to return to active duty, and you wish to align yourself with the Council, all we have to do is inform them."

She snorted out a scoffing, "What? I'll suddenly be 'good enough' for them?"

He came out of the kitchen slowly, leaning on the little wall separating the two rooms, looking at her. "I imagine you were always good enough for them. I just didn't let them know." He took the blame on himself, more than he should. He didn't know why sometimes, maybe just to see a flicker of something warm and real behind hard eyes. He saw it now.

She felt instantly bad for hinting that he was guilting her, felt warmed by his simple, heartfelt words that he (at least belatedly), thought she was "good enough". Something she'd had precious little of, and something she didn't really need anymore.

At least she told herself that.

_ Point being, the dude is going to be broke and maybe deported. On the run anyway, until he finds a job. Why? Because he chose me, over them. _

_ I know everything he told me, but I still don't really get _why_ he's doing this. 'Cause damn, I hate doing it. But I have to._

She managed to look artful, even seductive, as she clumsily tried to offer help. Neither of them were too good at it, so it didn't really surprise either of them when her willingness to help pitch in came out as straight seduction.

"Should I get a job tending bar?" Faith smirked. "Or a French maid?" She moved from couch to table with a faltering step, but managed to look smooth as straddled a wooden chair and pouted her lips. "I bet I'd look hot in the outfit."

"I'm sure you would." He nodded. He almost thanked for her willingness to help, but she hadn't stopped speaking, only paused for effect.

"Maybe a dominatrix." Her lips parted, showing shining teeth in a cruel, but sensual smile. "Leather. Whips. Playing close to the edge, making them beg for mercy. I could do that." The pelvis tilted towards him as it spread, crotch of her tight jeans pressing to the bars of the chair. "I'm good at that."

"I'm sure you are. Nonetheless, I -I had a letter today. I'm - Hrm. I thought my father would have mentioned it but I realize he couldn't get in touch with me now. No, no, if I'm being honest with myself, I doubt he would have bothered, actually." He murmured, sinking back inside his own mind.

"Wes?" Flirting bad girl mode momentarily switched off. "Not following."

"I've received a letter." He managed to shake himself out of it, give her a small, melancholy smile. "My Great Uncle Hubert has died."

Her eyes showed compassion, even sympathy. She had thought those parts of herself would be frozen over, burnt out, something, but she shook her head regretfully, "Oh, man, Wes-"

"He was in his nineties, and he had a wonderful, prosperous life. I haven't seen him in years. I'm sure he was at peace." _Or he died of shock when Father told him how I've singlehandedly disgraced the family name._ Wesley forced himself to sound at accepting of the situation, of the loss. "He left me a small legacy. I was trying to say, I may not be getting paid right now, but the lack of a pay check isn't as dire, thanks to this. At least not right now."

Faith's sympathy was replaced by survival. It so often was, sentiment trumped by necessity as she was growing up. _Hey, Sally went back to juvie, but now you can have the bed by the window. Sorry your mom kicked it, but at least now you don't have to worry if she's sober, off the streets. You can stop wishing she'd come find you, come see you. _

_ Always moving on, not looking back at the people you left behind. Easier. _"Sorry and all, but hey, sounds like the old guy had a decent life." Faith offered.

"Very decent." Wesley acknowledged.

Curiosity burned with his silence, until she gave in to it. "So... is this some blue blood Great Uncle Hubert?"

"Not in terms of nobility. In terms of estate and fortune, I suppose you'd call him that." He considered the way she would view it.

_Fortune? _" Are we rich?" Her eyes were glowing, and the hips went back to normal position as she bounced upright excitedly. Then stilled, with something like embarrassment. _Yeah, Faith. Real classy. Hey- you grow up dirt poor in Boston, home of the American aristocracy, maybe you're allowed to go a little crazy about money. I never had any of my own. Still don't. _ "I mean, are _you_ rich now?" She corrected herself.

He gave her a slight smile. "Far from it. It was a few thousand pounds, which, with taxes and exchange rates and all that, puts us at slightly fewer thousand US dollars."

Thousands sounded like rich to her. _But it's not when you don't steal and sleep for your next drink. Damn honesty was getting expensive_. "I get it. I should get used to the french maid costume?" She twirled a her wrist playfully, holding an invisible feather duster, rich burgundy-red lips forming, "Oui oui" as she did so.

"You should get used to living in squalor." Wesley corrected her. "I wouldn't worry too much. I didn't want to say anything until I ironed out a few of the details, but I've put a call into a translation agency. They do technical manuscripts, medical textbooks, that sort of thing. They want English and other languages translated into a dozen more uncommon languages that I excel in, if you'll forgive my boasting. I can do it in a few hours a day, and anywhere that has a computer. Well, a computer with software and internet access. That means I'm going to have to use some of this money to purchase a laptop. Perhaps a cell phone." He hesitated before telling her the next part. "It also means we have to stay here for a few more weeks, I'm afraid. They have to ship me certain things to get started. But, it_ is _a job, and it pays- not terribly well, but sufficiently, and the only risk is eye strain and paper cuts."

"Doesn't sound right for a man of action, like you." She half-teased, half-goaded.

"I imagine I'll see plenty of action." _Does that make it seem like I expect her to begin slaying?_ He pushed on, "You'll think of a part-time job soon enough. I'd like it if you could walk for more than two steps unsupported before becoming exhausted first, however." He rummaged in the recently restocked cupboards. "Would you like instant soup or instant - hmm. Well, it seems to be soup, but the package claims it's 'Complete Nutrition in a Bowl'." He frowned at the packaging.

"Both taste like styrofoam." Faith informed him.

"But they have their own containers. No dishes required." He moved to the sink to add the required amount of water to each cup.

"I bet when you were a kid you had fancy china and real silver at every meal." Faith guessed, somewhat enviously.

"Yes. A great many forks as well, at every meal, no matter what was served. That always bothered me." He mused. He filled the cups, gave them a stir, turned from the sink, and swallowed a yelp.

She was in the doorway when he moved, making the water slosh over his hands as he pulled up abruptly. "I've been wondering." Faith gave him an appraising, not entirely friendly stare. "What do you get out of this?"

His voice came out a half octave higher than he would have liked. "I thought I'd take the soup, since I'm not healing, and I don't need the 'complete nutrition' package, such as it is."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid. You didn't just have the job, and the fancy degree. You had the whole picture. Your family had money, and connections. Dude, you have a frickin' _inheritance, _even a little one_,_ from a guy who had 'fortunes' and 'estates'."

"I-"

"You wanna 'change'." He opened his mouth, and she spoke over his unfinished protest. "I get that you want to be the person that daddy and duty stomped out, but there must be a million ways you could do that without 'living in squalor' with someone like me, fugitive from justice, screw up, super freak."

"Faith, honestly-"

"Hey. I never finished high school, but I'm smart enough to know that guys like you don't give up _everything_ good for _one_ bad girl." She was bitter in tone, a scowlingly suggestive leer on her face as she tossed dark chestnut high-lit locks over her shoulders and her bust. "Unless they want something_ from_ that bad girl."

Wesley's heart stabbed him, more for her than him, and he knew if he showed it, her rage would burst out. She couldn't take pity, couldn't take compassion, and in reality, he was very poor at providing either. He'd been raised in a factual, disapproving home where you kept silent and did better if you didn't like the way you felt inside.

"I _do_ want something from you." He confessed quietly.

Her eyes flickered, and the barriers dropped to show pained disappointment, then went back up, satisfied and smiling. "Thought so." _I'm right, I'm always right about people. They might snow me for a day or two, even a week or two, but I'm right in the end._ She couldn't reconcile this gnawing disappointment in her chest when her brain was telling her to act snidely satisfied that she'd finally forced him to slip up._ When all else fails- do what you know. _

Faith's arms were weak and rubbery, but she prepared to wind them around his shoulders. "How do you want it? Right now? When I'm weaker? Make you feel like you're a big man? Or maybe later, when I can pin you down and show you how hard and fast a human body can go?"

His stomach knotted, and lids made a millisecond tremble he hoped she didn't see. "I think we're talking about-"

"You don't have to fancy it up. Sex." She chuckled. She'd thought she would hate him for wanting it. She did, actually, but not too much. No more than usual. He wouldn't take more than she wanted, and he would probably make her feel good. Those quiet, hardworking, mama's boy types sometimes could be real freaks, but they usually strove to please a lady. Hatred and disappointment faded to a kind of numbness as she waited for him to make his choice. Smugness and sensuality never entered into it, that was all a veneer.

He answered firmly, clearly, even though his voice came out at ordinary volume. "Not sex." He didn't blush, but only because the blood was washing out of his face at the same time. _Is that why she thinks I'm helping her? I'm some sick, sadistic predator? Or does she think there's only so many things she can offer 'in trade', as it were? And when did all this happen? We were doing so well. Last night..._

_ It's a pattern, you twit, _his long suffering subconscious sighed at him._ Every time you knock down a wall- she'll put up another one. The question is, will you keep fighting, keep knocking them down, until she either stops shutting you out, or decides to let you in? You've just seen that in a twelve hour span she'll go from clutching your hand and pledging to make this hard journey to change yourselves- to saying you only want her for the basest, most selfish pleasures._

Faith stepped back hastily and unsteadily, shamed, and angry. He had said his two syllable denial, and then just seemed to stare through her, in some kind of horrified disbelief. "You said you want something. Maybe it wasn't the same thing. But you want _something._ What is it?" She demanded with a hash pretense of indifference.

"Your respect." _Your trust, your friendship, your devotion, to be a person, maybe the only person, who matters to you, being as I have indeed, given up a lot for all this madness. _He slid past her calmly. "I think the dehydrated vegetables are bloating in the water. Best cook them quickly."

"Oh. Yeah." Faith nodded distractedly. She let him pass, let him do his thing without speaking to him. She lurched and clutched her way to the small table where this ill-fated conversation began, and refused to look at him.

She ignored him until he put the little bowl in front of her, complete with plastic spoon.

"I'd like to apologize in advance." He joked out of habit, and sat down as well, prodding cautiously at his own cup of broth and noodles.

"Not your fault they're allowed to sell this stuff." She shrugged. _If he acts like nothing happened, I can, too._

It might be one of the nicest things he'd done for her, ignoring the huge humiliating misunderstanding she'd just had. Right up there with saving her life.

"I used to eat this all the time." Faith told him as she dug in, blowing the steam away, stirring the mass in front of her around.

"Once we find time to do some proper shopping, or find a place with a proper stove, I promise only _some_ of the meals will be prepared in microwaves."

"Whatever." She swallowed and watched him. He grimaced with every bite, but didn't complain. He had that damn stack of "important papers" in front of him again, and he took refuge in studying them, pretending she hadn't just made an ass out of herself, and a sicko out of him. He started flipping through the papers. Wincing swallow, study the paper, flip, another unpleasant mouthful, another page.

_He didn't even point out the multitude of skank and easy I just did. Not like I care. _Cared._ Only I can't believe I did that in front of _him_! _At_ him! Oh God, I - _Her mind stopped rehashing the statement she'd just made. Her recovering brain couldn't handle that much humiliation. "Hey."

Her voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "Yes?" _Oh please. Please don't make it worse than it already is..._

She didn't look up from her half empty bowl. "I can't give you want you want."

It stung, but he was unfortunately quite used to going without respect. Especially from the people he desperately wished would give it to him. "Ah. I see."_ Yes, Wesley, she can make it worse. Well, I won't give up. I can't._

He coughed to clear the tightness in his throat."I hope one day that you'll feel differently, perhaps after a time-"

"Dude, stop. I wasn't done."

"Oh. Please continue."

_The gentleman. Dude doesn't need the fancy house, and the fancy silver._ It was comforting to be wrong about someone. She smiled briefly at her spoon. "I can't _give _you what you want. But the way you act? You're going a long way towards earning it."

It was so little, but it undid all the knots in his stomach in a single rush. _She can make it worse- but that just made it infinitely better. There's hope._ He smiled, a real, open, smile."That's fair. Cheers to that." He raised a can of soda in the air.

She raised her own."Cheers, Wes."

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Dedicated to: Sirius 120, Cavemenftw, alexiarrose, ginar369, omslagspapper, and Illusera, Jewel74, Alkeni, Kerry220, Austexfan, and my anonymous guest reviewers. Thank you for the support!_

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part IX**

_Neutral_

It was a strange week, a week in limbo.

Yet more paperwork arrived. He filled it out like a man possessed, eager to get it back, eager to earn money instead of spending what he'd "borrowed" from his credit lines.

She moved around more and more on her own, strong enough to stand, weak enough to need a wall or a chair to clutch within arm's length at all times.

Wesley had to run and "buy things", a cell phone, a laptop, and other things that plainly terrified him.

"It's no good. It's a flawed idea. This software is incredibly specific, it can't be compatible with most computers, and even if I _do_ save the work to disks, most computers won't read the bloody things." Wesley crashed back on the worn couch, and ripped off his glasses. He ran tensed hands down his unshaven face.

"You get any sleep last night, Cowboy?" Faith was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, and gave him an amused look, a half-smirk that masked the sudden fear she felt in her stomach. _What's that mean, if this job "won't work"? _

_ See? This is why you don't depend on people. They can let you down._ She watched him shake his head in answer to her question, and that gnawing sensation in her middle doubled._ You also start to care if they look like shit and they're struggling. _

"Don't worry. I'll make something work, somehow." He broke the silence she was trying to fill with kind, reassuring words. It took her too long to think of any, and he'd rescued her yet again.

I need to get my rescuing on, Faith thought as she watched him stare bleakly at the wall, lost in his troubles.

_Holy crap. Dude. I just had a good guy thought. I should tell him. It'd make him happy._

She coughed. Awkwardness of the extreme variety, trying to find a way to tell someone something you yourself didn't really believe. "Maybe I'll save some rich old Nebraska lady and she'll do the gratitude in the form of a check thing."

She was right. He was happy. "You- you're thinking of -"

"I'm not making any promises, but I can't sit on my ass forever." Faith shrugged. "Speaking of my ass- it's getting numb. Wanna watch me try to climb stairs? It's a hoot and a half."

He rose, seeming to leave his woes behind him. "It'd be so much easier if you'd use the railings."

"That's cheating." She let him steady her as she found her feet.

"Using your resources." He corrected, and they exchanged a wry smile.

"What's that from? The Bookworm's Guide to Breaking Rules?"

"No, but I quite like the title." _And I quite like that idea. Using my resources._

* * *

"You did enough."

"One more flight."

"If you stop now, I'll walk you to the pub. I mean, bar."

"Okay." Faith stopped at the landing and collapsed, hands on knees. "I never thought walking could make me wanna hurl so bad... Man. I feel like my guts are in a blender. and after having a knife twisted around in there- I mean it."

"Lovely imagery." Wesley murmured, wincing. "It's a matter of your exertion levels afflicting the muscles in your abdomen, contracting and -"

"Wes! Shut it. Contracting muscles and junk doesn't help the hurlage stop." Faith groaned and rubbed her thighs.

"In simple terms- you've done enough. Your muscles are telling you so." Wesley concluded, and gently eased her up when she gestured for his hand. "You look slightly green."

"I feel 'slightly green'. No bar. Can you get me a tallboy to go?"

"I'll walk you home and go back out and get one. I need to use the bar's pay phone to activate my cell phone and put minutes on it- I hate these strange terms- and I have a few other calls to make."

Faith frowned. Suspicion reared its ever present head. He was still speaking, however.

"I think you should try the hot shower and rub your legs down as vigorously as you can manage with that aloe oil I purchased. I would also suggest your lower torso, if you're having muscle pain there as well. I'll make my calls and leave you to that."

Suspicion was temporarily shelved in favor of baiting him, seeing if she could make him twitch. Though she no longer thought he was looking to get laid as part of their arrangement, she would be offended if he didn't at least get a little flustered around a hot chick. _Which I am_. _When I'm not green._ "Whatsa matter, Wes? You don't want to catch the show? Guys pay a lot of money to watch babes slathering on oil, and you could get it for free." She teased, coy look in her eye.

She'd made slightly risque comments to him before, which he always replied to with the utmost dry, factual remarks he could think of. He never teased her in return, afraid it would be mistaken for something serious, wounding their tenuous "trust". "I thought I had strict instructions to keep my hands and eyes away from anything you might 'show', free or not?" He countered.

_Look who's growing balls._ "I don't think it's your kind of entertainment. You like classy brunettes, like that Chase bitch."

Wesley did blush. He'd made a fool of himself over her, and it was mutual- until a week or so before graduation, when he'd suddenly lost interest in anything but trying to outsmart Travers, and Cordelia had her own tasks to attend to in order to make the graduation plan run smoothly. _It wasn't even genuine, a mere infatuation, with someone young and beautiful looking up to me, respecting me. And let's be honest, she preferred the accent and the manners, not the man. _I_ don't even like that man, that- that hollow _thing_ I was._ "I don't think I've 'liked' anyone in years." He admitted softly, to himself.

"Shocker." She stole a look at him. Then stared at the pavement under her own carefully treading feet. "I get it." _Hurts too much. Takes too much trust, too much time, just too much._

He doubted she did, but could well believe she'd experienced the same things, whatever the reason. They walked the rest of the way home, two strangers suddenly sharing the same space.

* * *

"Giles?"

"Wesley! I thought I'd heard the last of you for some time to come!"

"Well, I thought you had, too, only - I have a few problems that I need assistance with."

Instantly fearing the worst, Giles was quick to offer, "What can I do?"

"It's not you I need, I'm afraid." Wesley looked around the bar. No one paid him any attention. Faith's can of beer was pushed to the back of the small metal ledge, and a pen, a small "pay as you go" cell phone, its forty page instruction manual, and an empty shot glass were cluttered around his elbows as he leaned close to the wall and whispered. "It's Willow."

Giles' startled expression nearly dislodged his glasses. "Dear Lord. You're not casting spells are you?"

"Computer software."

"Even worse."

"Do you think she would call me back? I have a new number. Well, I will once I use this- confirmation code- blast it!" Wesley's booklet and start up instructions fluttered to the ground as he tried to find the information.

"No need. She and Xander are here, spending their last few weeks of summer freedom bothering me instead of their parents. Wait a moment."

Willow's hesitant voice came on the line in a few seconds. "Wesley? Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm very well, Willow. I'm simply having a bit of a technological problem, and I was hoping you might be able to assist me?"

* * *

"Okay, then that should let you get to administrator permissions, you override, and tell it to accept the disk, or install the software. Once you're done, you just delete the program or eject the disk. Easy."

"For you, perhaps. Dozens of languages, but computer illiterate..." Wesley had been writing feverishly for ten minutes as Willow explained the "easy" way Wesley could hack any public use computer long enough to do something simple as installing a non-viral software program, or reading a certain type of disk. "Willow, you're a godsend."

"Thanks!" She said in her perky voice. "You do have email and stuff, right? Or you won't be able to send the disk's documents anywhere."

"They've given me an account. I can access it on a 'web server'?" He sounded thoroughly puzzled.

She giggled. "You'll get the hang of it. But- how are you gonna get paid now that you can do the work?"

"They'll put money into my account, direct deposit, and I can still withdraw it. I've got a temporary address for now- and I suppose I can get a post office box somewhere." It dawned on him that no one would write to him. He'd get a few monthly statements. They could pile up for all he cared.

An empty man- with an empty life.

"Okay. You can call me again if you get stuck. I know a lot of tips for getting around the simple stuff like that. You'll give Giles your new number, right?"

"It might be safer for him if he didn't have it, actually."

Giles' voice suddenly inserted itself in the conversation. "Don't be noble, Wesley, give me the number and then I really have to hang up. Xander's trying to cook. We may have to evacuate the flat."

* * *

He returned to the flat, sweating can in hand, plastic bag full of papers and technological gibberish over his arm. "One 'tallboy'. As requested." He put it in front of her.

Faith painfully sat up on the couch. She was sprawled, watching reruns of _Laverne and Shirley_, and trying to pretend her body wasn't on fire. "Thanks."

"Now, give me a minute to get something prepared. You don't want alcohol on an empty stomach after all. I'll make some of my world famous spaghetti in a -" He was stopped short by the metallic and carbonated hiss of the metal tab opening. "Faith!"

She drained half of it in one long swallow. "Ahhhh. I needed that." Faith wiped her mouth on her wrist and sighed contentedly. Then belched. "Oops."

"You do things like that on purpose." He sighed in resignation, and went into the kitchen.

"You just gettin' that?" She called after him.

* * *

He was surprised to see her in the doorway of the tiny kitchenette, and from the grimace on her face, he suspected she was regretting it as well. "Dinner in about five minutes. Hardly gourmet, but at least it's not from the microwave this time." He stirred the pasta in its gloopy orange-red sauce in a small pot on the stove.

"It's food. All good."

"You never tell me what things you want to eat. Aside from beer, I know that." He muttered the last phrase.

"Yeah, but that's just until I stop bitching about walking. I won't need a liquid motivator after that, right?" She crushed the can in her fist and chucked it into the trash.

"You're avoiding the topic."

"What topic? Food? I eat what you nuke, I'm good." Faith shrugged.

"I see." _ Heaven forbid I try to make things nice for us. For that matter, she's right, to hell with the food, it'd be nice to have a dinner with actual dinner conversation. _

They rarely talked when they ate. She watched television or stared at her plate, he had been absorbed in papers and forwarded post.

_Don't try to make things "homey". You had meals fit for the lower rungs of royalty. I don't recall a pleasant word of conversation ever occurring at our table unless a guest was there, and we had our "company manners" on display._

_Perhaps that's what you're looking for here, that thing you've been missing, grew up not realizing you lacked. _ Wesley watched her stumble off, black tee rolled high to show a tattoo on a slowly filling muscle, black jeans that hung loose on her hips over unlaced boots.

Stop looking, he advised himself harshly. _You're not going to find anything there. Not beyond painfully earned respect- if that._

It was another silent meal.

* * *

_ You know what's weird about him?_ Faith pretended to be interested in the television, but she didn't really give two shits about the local news, as long as she wasn't on it. When she turned on the television, she did it so she wouldn't have to talk with him, to get any closer. _Already told him too damn much, and he _knows_ too damn much, even when I don't say anything._

When they weren't engaged in an activity, she was fairly sullen and silent. But just because she didn't speak to him, didn't mean she wasn't watching him. Which is why she had just realized something.

_He really _isn't _like that bastard in Sunnydale anymore, with his stopwatch and his prissy, whiney voice. He was right. He's changing into that guy he wants to be. Or at least someone different. Man, I hope this isn't what he _wants _to be, or his life sucks. _

The man never stopped working. He was always hunched over something, running some errand, or taking care of her. She hated that last part. But she was pretty damned impressed with his drive when she thought about it. _Works that ass off to start a whole new, way more crappy, way harder life. When he talks to me, he still uses those Head Boy manners- most of the time. If Head Boy grew up and got some, that is. _She often replayed things he'd said to her in her mind. Dogged encouragements, promises that almost sounded like threats when she was at her most stubborn and doubtful, persuasions, and honesty.

_ So he's becoming that guy. Gonna show the world who he really is, gonna figure it out for himself._

_ What am I doing? Got anything figured out yet? _

_ If you wanna change, what's it look like?_

She hated question she couldn't answer, hated them most when she was the one asking.

"I'm bailing." Faith abruptly pushed herself up from the couch, forcing her legs to carry her down the hall without waiting for his customary call of "Goodnight, Faith."

* * *

He stared after her. "Goodnight, then..." He murmured, and put his head down on the new laptop he was struggling to understand. _What in the world did I do now?_

* * *

_Chrysalis_

"Faith? Faith?" Wesley's voice woke her early in the morning, soft and insistent outside her door.

"We on fire?" Faith blearily sat up, pushing tangled raven-highlighted locks back from her blinking eyes.

"I'd hardly have knocked if we were!" Wesley said with minor indignation.

"I still think you might have." Faith tried to stand, and her spine, forced to work harder every day, buckled and refused to support the action this time. "Shit. Shit shit shit."

"Faith? What was that?"

"You'd better come in. I'm not getting up yet." Can't _get up yet. I'd rather him think I'm lazy than weak._

"Yes, well I didn't want to wake you, but I've got everything filled out that goes back to my uncle's estate solicitor, and I should have my first text for translation awaiting in email attachment form- I think I understand what that is-" he frowned for a moment, "so I'm off to find the library and run to the post office."

"Peace out." Faith slumped back, not because she wanted to, but because the pain in her back was worsening.

"Well, I -"

"Wes, I get it. You're not gonna ditch me unless I kill someone. Take the damn car." Faith glared at him, not entirely believing the words she'd just spoken, but sure enough to put even money on them.

He was stunned, he was moved. However, she hated when he showed it, so he blinked rapidly and smiled slightly. "I appreciate the vote of confidence." _I think that's the first time she's ever said it so plainly. That she- she trusts I'll come back. She trusts something about me. On a deeper level._

"Okay..." He was just standing there, almost staring through her. "You wanna do the appreciation elsewhere, or what? Kinda in skivvies here." Plain white underwear he couldn't see, braless under a black tank top she'd made him buy this last week. Who knew these prairie towns were so damn hot?

"Hm? Oh. No, I was only going to say that the money from my uncle's will should be put in my London bank account via a wire transfer, and I can access those funds from anywhere with my account card." Faith was looking at him with squinted eyes. "Faith?"

"Trying to figure out why I need to know this?" She tried to look indifferent, but she knew the answer. _How about because this guy is sharing EVERYTHING with you? He doesn't want much back either. Except that intangible stuff that's hard to give. _

"Everything should go fine, with both the estate and the papers for my new job, but just in case- I think it'd be best to have an established address they can ship further documents to, if needed."

_Stay another week? Three weeks. In one place. Not a good way to avoid being recognized._ Faith groaned. "Don't they have faxes in merry old England?"

"Yes, but there are certain documents that require original signatures. Everything has been posted back that needs to be, but if it should get lost, and they need me to submit another set of documents..."

"When will you get the all clear?" Faith asked after a few seconds.

"I would hope no more than seven days. I have been shipping with the highest priority and security the postal service provides." A_nd it costs a packet. I'm going to be translating until Christmas just to make up postage_. "After this week- we can leave. We can stay in any city that has public computers with internet connections, any place that has an ATM. Although- we'll have to stay in the next town for awhile as well."

"Huh? Now why? I thought you said email-"

"My VISA renewal process. I'll need a physical address to receive the card when it comes. After that I- well, I think I'll ask Mr. Giles if he would procure a post office box in Sunnydale in my name. Not that I'll get much mail." Because who would write me? _Now that I'm the black sheep of the family, resigned from the Council, on the run-_ He coughed and ended that train of thought. "Nonetheless. Every month or so he can check it and if it's urgent he can call and let me know. Run of the mill bills and things he can discard or forward to whatever address we're using at the time."

Pain or not, now Faith rose into a sitting position, hair hanging over furious eyes. "_They can call you_? He has your number?"

Bother. "Yes. I had to call to-"

"You called them before you had the phone!"

"I called them after as well." Wesley sighed and admitted. "I needed help from Willow to learn how one 'hacks' a computer system to make it accept the language software."

"They already knew- know- whatever, where we are, and now we're sitting here for another week, _and_ they can get in touch with you, whenever they want?" Anger bubbled over, irrational and scared. "Screw this." She held up her hands in a gesture that meant, "I'm done."

"Now, listen!"

"No!" She pushed off the bed, not caring what she was wearing, not caring for the terrible pain in her muscles. "I don't want to be some Midwest Branch of the Scooby Gang! I don't want to be 'Slayer East'. I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but one day you could barely trust them, now you're like, let's be pen pals?" Faith ranted.

"I don't expect any such thing, from you or them! I needed a few things to help me start a new career and a new life. I'm the one who got you out of that town and kept you away from it, from anyone after you, so obviously I'm aware of the dangers! But I can't very well teleport so I have to use the phone!" His own frustration came out, his voice raising ever so slightly, coming out harder and faster, not louder. "People have to have some form of contact information, Faith." _How did this go, yet again, so badly, so quickly? A simple request, that's all I made. _

"I never did." Faith spat. "After I ran away, before the Watcher people found me- I didn't. After my Watcher died-" She swallowed suddenly, "I didn't."

"You lied, cheated, and stole what you wanted."

"I killed too, did you forget that one?" She asked sarcastically.

"That wasn't what you wanted." Wesley slammed the door as she began shoving past him, trapping her in the room.

Fire flashed in her eyes. "Oh. Big boy wants to play? You think you've got the advantage because-"

_She thinks that I want to fight her now? Dear God. Dear _God_, how do I fail so abjectly? _Words wouldn't come, actions wouldn't manifest. He simply sat, cross legged on the floor, no warning at all, as if his legs were the ones no longer working.

Faith staggered, and fell back to the edge of the bed, staring at the man on her floor, head down, eyes fiercely burning the floor. Genuinely scared for a split second that something had happened to him, once she realized he was okay, she was more furious. Furious at him, furious at herself for hesitating, for maybe- caring. Or something. "Get up."

"I don't wish to get up just now." He said softly.

"Then I'll go."

"I'd like you to stay." He requested, not looking at her.

_Well what the fuck do I now? _Faith shook her head and made a tiny noise in the back of her throat which spoke volumes of frustration. _I only know how to leave and to fight. _

_He doesn't know anything. _

Wesley risked a glance at her. She hadn't moved yet. "I should have told you I wanted to call Willow to ask for help before I did so."

"Damn straight you should've." She growled.

"I didn't like to burden you. You were so exhausted the other day."

"Burden me? _Burden _me? Dude, I'm the fucking Great Wall of China and you're carrying me around- sometimes for real- on your shoulders."

"You're not my burden. You're my chance." He shook his head. _She's unaware of how precious that is, and I've never been able to show her. How could I, when I'm still finding the value of it?_ "I am afraid I'm failing you. Or that I will. I know how you survived in the past, and given the circumstances, I'm amazed at how well you did. But I don't want to survive like that, with hurting and stealing. Maybe with some necessary deceptions and some secretiveness, but not- not like that. You see-" he looked up at her with a smile that was so sadly hopeful, "I'm going to be different. I'm willing to do whatever it takes, but I want it to be a different I'd respect."

She heard the truth in that, and it struck home, in spite of all the armor she had inside. "You and respect again."

"Is it so bad to want something you've never had, but watched everyone around you get?" He demanded suddenly.

Oh man. Her list of those things- it was so long and so painful, she tried to never, ever think of it. "No. That's not wrong."

He sighed deeply, before daring to reach up and let his hand float over hers, not daring to touch, but _almost_, before he drew it back to his side. "I'm making the best plans I can, and even if they're horribly amateurish to a survival veteran such as yourself, and even if they fail- I won't let anyone hurt you. Not if I could help it. I know you're stronger than me, but for some reason you still worry that I have some- some_ power _that'll cause you pain."

"Not afraid of anyone." She mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, and seriously about to bolt, as his words kept striking closer and closer to the hurts she buried.

"Good. Then try to believe I'm doing all I can, the best I can-"

_I know. I watch you do it. It doesn't look half bad either._

"-and if it really bothers you that much to periodically check in with the Sunnydale community, I suppose I could stop."

_So you'd make his life harder. _That sat wrong with her. _Why the hell do I care if I make his life miserable? He picked this, he picked me, I didn't ask for his help. _

_ He just... gives it to me anyway._

She gave something back, under a barrage of venom and glares. "I think you might be an idiot to keep in touch with anyone from that place. But whatever. If they catch me, they catch you, too, and I won't be going down alone. If they catch me, if they sic Buffy on me- I'll kill her. I don't- want to." She admitted, feeling her stomach churn, "I just don't want anything anything to chase me now."

Her threats sent a cascade of ice down his spine, but he didn't show it. He nodded, standing up and nodding as he put his hand on the doorknob. He understood the violent impulse, the hunted animal savagely attacking when cornered. There was so much of the wild in her eyes when she dared to show it. Wild and scared, but still something so- beautiful. "I understand."

He opened the door and stepped through it.

Thank God that's done, Faith thought, letting out a deep sigh and shudder.

Only it wasn't. "I can't believe- well, no I _can_ believe but I wish I didn't have to- that you think I'd let them hurt you."

"Not like you can stop some people, Wes!" She shouted back. In a much softer voice, she chanted, "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."

He didn't. "No, but I wouldn't 'let' it happen!"

"I take it back, geez, just please _go_! Go harass some old lady librarian, I was wrong, okay? I didn't mean to say that about you."

In the apartment, all noises seemed to stop, his footsteps, her breathing, his shuffling of papers, struck by what she'd admitted.

_ I can't do this emotion crap. _"I'm getting in the shower, so haul ass." Faith attempted to end the conversation.

It would have been his preference to end it as well, but he couldn't let her go on thinking certain things were true."You were wrong about one other thing."

"Only one? Record for me." Faith grumbled and slid herself shakily to the doorway, watching his back as he prepared to leave.

"You said I wouldn't leave you, unless you killed someone." He turned just then, and for once, neither one could escape the other's eyes. Gazes locked. "I wanted to tell you. Not even then. Oh, I don't support it, I pray you never do, I hope I can-" He broke off, unable to adequately explain that in spite of honor and morality- she was the exception. he wouldn't let her continue harming people, but should she, he'd be by her side through whatever the fallout was. He looked over his shoulder and shook his once. "I wouldn't leave. Not even then. "

* * *

_First crack..._

She must've stood in the shower forever, washing his words off, and washing the invisible stains off of herself. When she was done, she rolled herself up in the cheap, nearly threadbare white towels that the place came with, and dragged herself to the kitchen. There was a stack of twenties with a note by the single box of cereal.

_The leasing office opens at nine. Would you give this to them for the next week's rent? _

"Why doesn't he do this himself? Doesn't he know he's taking a huge crappy gamble, letting me get my hands on this much cash?" Faith counted it out. There'd be five left over after she paid._ If _she paid. _Dammit._ "He should do this himself."

She poured her cereal and put the cash reluctantly back on the piece of paper- this time catching a glimpse of ink on the back. She flipped the note over.

_I didn't do it myself because I plan to work until the library closes, or I break the computer. Whichever comes first. I'll bring home dinner. _

_ Also, it will ensure you walk a little today, instead of watching the television nonstop._

"I'm seriously going to hurt him." Faith crumpled it up angrily, annoyed and amused that he knew her so well.

* * *

She did the stretches and the exercises he taught her, and she watched the tube when she felt like it. She got hungry and rummaged around the cabinets and made a mental note that even if food was food, and she didn't care about it as long as she had some, the dude had to start buying something munchable, not just this canned meal crap.

"I can buy some with the change if I want. I can make it to the store.

_You could make it a lot farther. You've got almost two hundred in your pocket. Did he take the car? _She peeked out the window. _He had. Dammit._

_ Well, twenty buys a bus ticket to someplace far enough away. Hell, twenty buys you into a poker game, and even if you lose, you just follow the winner out, rough him up, take the money, and you're starting to look at "financial independence"._

Faith ran the scenario out of habit more than anything. She neglected the dozen flaws in the plan, the weakness, her inability to rough anyone up, the fact that she didn't want to.

_Don't know what I'm supposed to become- but something I could respect... That's the game plan, Wes?_

_ It's working for him. Works and plans, fails and tries. He's kinda okay. If he took the pansy out of his ass, he might make a fighter someday. He does keep getting back up even after they knock him down._

* * *

She stumbled down to pay the rent, came back up with five bucks and fifty what-ifs.

_Maybe he shouldn't trust me, but he does. Same here. A little. Shoved a box of weapons right at me, and didn't run screaming. That's gotta be a start. _

Bored and thinking nostalgically of the times past when she could have simply run an hour without too much effort, of when weaponry meant she was about to make demons cry and want their mommies, she sat down in front of the boxes Wes had stacked in the corner of the small living room.

She gave a wistful moan at the sight of that much hardware as she opened the first box. "Yeah, baby. Oooh, you feel so good. I missed you." Faith crooned to the first stake she took out, this one obviously never used, so smooth, and sharp, and perfect. And it fit just perfectly in the palm of her hand too. Her fingers wrapped around it with a sigh."You were made for dusting, not polishing. Don't worry. Someday soon." She set it down and went to drool over that perfect crossbow she'd seen last time, though she was careful to avoid the arrows.

Faith took out and admired every weapon in the first box. Wesley was going to get some case or chest, some innocent looking thing to conceal in their car, a traveling, almost undetectable arsenal stash. Once they had money.

"Until then- it's play time."

Faith worked her way through one box, oohing and ahhing, miming some attacks, realizing how horribly rusty she was, and then moving onto the next box.

She immediately realized she shouldn't have. This was his personal stuff. Papers. Letters A suit. "He took the other clothes. I guess he figures we're not living the suit lifestyle right now." Faith mused, lifting it out just enough to feel the silk tie that came with it. Putting it back down guiltily, she quickly closed the box, and pushed it away.

It rattled faintly.

Faith hadn't read the letters, just pawed his tie, no big deal. A girl can lust for a little soft texture, right? But what the heck did he have that rattled?

_Please tell me I didn't break something..._

Faith lifted out a delicate blue willow china teacup, and moved the suit jacket to reveal its mate. Moved it further to reveal a whole damn High Tea, just add crumpets and water.

_Why didn't he take this stuff out?_ Cups. Silver spoons. Sugar bowl. Tea kettle. She lifted out the electric one. _He's always bitching about tea. _

_ But he never buys any. He never has a cup. But he does _literally _have one._ She turned the cup over gently. _Maybe he was afraid I'd break it. He knows my style after all. Maybe he thinks suits and the good china aren't important right now. I'd have to agree with him._

There was a note stuffed into the bone white interior. From the way it was still neatly and tightly creased, Faith figured Wesley had never bothered to open it. Maybe he'd never even examined the cups, just pushed them aside. Part of his old life. Part she shouldn't be bothering. She felt like a snoop, but that wasn't the worst thing she'd been. After a moment of guilt and curiosity battling it out, she opened it up, long stalled curiosity winning.

_You can fight the world's battles and all the demons you want, and still have time for tea._

_R.G._

Faith had to smile. _Pretty decent of Giles to do. Looking out for Brit Jr. Giles was kinda the cute, young Watcher back then. Wes is even younger. And I guess cuter. I don't know. Weird thought. _

She read it a second time, more carefully. _ You can fight the world's battles and all the demons you want, and still have time for tea._

* * *

"Teabags? Do you got any? Like the kind- British guys like?" Faith demanded at the counter of the pharmacy.

Two old gals just stared at her. "Am I not speaking English?" Faith spat.

"Honey- maybe you better sit down."

"Don't need to- okay, maybe." She sank into the ugly plastic chair someone stuck under her behind.

She'd walked. Alone. Without falling. In ninety-six-fucking-degree heat. All made up too, with her hair brushed- mostly- and she had made it to the nearest store to possibly have tea, the pharmacy.

"Get her some water."

"I don't need water. Need tea." Faith panted, waving a water bottle away- then changing her mind and drinking greedily.

"Slow down... slow down... Girl, why you in those heavy denims? You know the good Lord turned on the furnace today!" One woman admonished, fanning her with a store circular.

"Look, don't fashion advise me, just steer me to the teabags. Please tell me you have some."

"We have a couple kinds by the coffee."

"I'll take it. What kind do British people like?"

"I don't know. Dee Dee?"

"I don't rightly know either." The other agreed.

Faith groaned and heaved herself up. "I'll get plain. Is plain a tea flavor?"

"No, Honey."

"Shit." She unevenly staggered off.

"Too bad that pretty English boy wasn't here today." Dee Dee said, watching Faith narrowly miss a display of coffee filters.

"He hasn't been in for a few days. Hope he's okay."

"I don't know. Worried me. Body oil, make up, and first aid kits..."

* * *

_Black tea. Orange tea. Black Orange Pekoe tea. Where the crap is the one labeled _English_ tea? _Faith swatted viciously at the boxes- and lost her balance, careening into a row of greeting cards._ Great. I can't be a bitch until I'm better. _

"Sweetie, you look like you're having some trouble."

The dynamic duo was back. Faith rolled her eyes. "I am. Look, I have this guy, he's English, he's all tight assed and stuff, but- he would totally do you a solid, like brushing your hair and buying your lipstick, getting all bloody with you when you hurt yourself-"

The clerks exchanged a sudden enlightened glance Faith didn't understand. Her sentence temporarily derailed as one peered at her. Closely. "Personal space much?" Faith craned her neck back and away.

"Is that cherry sin?"

"Huh? Oh yeah." She absently touched her lips. "Right, back to this guy. So even though he's annoying and stuff, I want him to have his cup of tea. What do I buy? I've got five bucks, and also, he has one of those teapots that plugs into the wall. Do you put the teabags in it with the water and wait to boil?"

"Here. Get him this."

Faith took the box held in a gnarled hand. "English Breakfast Tea. Well, that helps. Is it okay for afternoons too? 'Cause he usually joneses for it in the afternoon, not the morning."

"Honey- that's a good man. And he'd drink your tea any time of the day."

For some reason Faith felt herself blush. "Whatever. Ring me up."

* * *

"I didn't blow up any computers, I didn't get arrested for hacking- oh, I actually 'hacked!'." Wesley burst into the flat after six, in a whirlwind of self-praise, ebullient with his success at the library, and carrying a red striped bucket. "I now have a disk with the textbook on it, and I've begun the actual translation. Now all I have to do is finish six hundred pages, then do it again in another language. Also, I've brought fried chicken."

Which he very nearly dropped.

"Hi." Faith didn't move. She was too tired.

"What in the world-"

"Tea. Plug in the water and you have tea. With real cups. Real spoons. Real milk. No sugar." She gestured to the table.

"I don't take sugar." Wesley said in a stunned voice, looking around. She'd laid the table for one, the cup, the saucer, a box of tea between the kettle and the creamer. "I- uh- How lovely." He gave a surprised titter.

"Thanks." Faith smiled, and then scowled. "If you'd pick up tea at the store, I wouldn't have had to walk down there like a drunk with wooden legs."

"You walked to -"

"You didn't think the tea fairy magically zapped it in here, did you?"

"Thank you." He murmured genuinely, walking over in a daze. He absently put the bucket of chicken in front of her and reverently clicked the on switch for the kettle.

"You're welcome, Wes." She laughed, trying not to, unable to help it. She felt something alien, and she suspected it was happiness. But seriously, he looked like she'd given him a million dollars instead of a three dollar box of tea bags. To make someone so simply, obviously happy- it was weird. But nice weird. "So. Sit already."

"One minute." He rushed past her, to the corner where the boxes were kept. Ah-ha. He knew there had been a second cup, saucer, and spoon. He also found the neatly folded note from Giles, opened it, read it, and gave Faith an appreciative glance which she didn't see as her chair was facing away from him.

"C'mon, the chicken is going to get cold." Faith urged.

"Patience!" He dashed past again, to the kitchen, where he rinsed the second setting, and then set it gently in front of her.

"Won't you join me?"

Faith suddenly looked very young, very uncertain, almost embarrassed. _I'm not all proper. And he knows that. I'm not gonna turn into some fancy, fluffy Buffy._ "I don't do tea." She said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Ah." He nodded, trying not to care over such a small thing after such a kind gesture.

Faith softened. The guy still looks so fricking happy. Can't wipe that smile off his face. "Hey." She lost her contrived disinterest and ventured a grin. "Is it some sin against the tea world if you drink a coke out of this thing?" Faith held up the soda he'd brought home and the cup.

Horrifically bad manners. Generations of Pryces and Wyndhams flinching in the immortal coil. Wesley's smile stretched even farther. He didn't care in the slightest. "Not at all."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter 10

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's note: The pace picks up after this chapter. Thank you for reading!_

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper, Alkeni, Austexfan, Illusera, and Kathryn Merlin._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part X**

_Settling_

She had her routine. Work out, pass out on the couch in front of a blaring television, wake up, eat, do pretty much the same work out with Wesley, plus his "torture walks" as she'd begun to think of them- walks with tons of stairs. Then sleep again, eat again, watch television again, and finally go to bed. Not always in that order, but always those things.

"I'm getting soft." She complained.

"If you mean you have lost that near death look and put on some weight from eating actual food- yes. Soft." Wesley replied absently, typing away.

He had his own routine. Wake up, shower, type frantically, wait until the noises of Faith grunting and cursing her way through her work out over the sound of television reruns drove him mad, then head to the library to work in some sort of quiet. Work until he couldn't see straight or was beginning to mix languages, or until his worry about leaving Faith alone for hours overwhelmed him, and rush home to be a supportive Watcher, there for her, training her, putting in the long hours of walking and rebuilding her strength, then making dinner. Waiting until she fell asleep, exhausted more easily than she'd ever admit, and then he'd quietly get out one of the ancient volumes of prophecies or demonology he owned, and read in his room. Just because she wasn't slaying, didn't mean he was going to stop "Watching".

* * *

"They've received all the paperwork, and I checked my balance- you can do that online now. Did you know that?" Wesley marveled at all the things one could do "online".

"How would I know that?" She asked around a mouth full of corn flakes, giving him a skeptical look. Like she'd ever had a bank account or anything resembling one.

"Ah. Well, the deposit from my legacy hasn't gone in yet, but it should in a week or so."

"Man, money stuff takes forever."

"I know." He looked worried.

"Don't worry." She told the cereal bowl.

His brow creased, deeper frown lines appearing."Faith, I'm -"

"I _said_, 'don't worry'." Faith repeated firmly. "You got this."

She doubted lots of things, but not his ability to keep grinding away at a problem.

He knew the words were said more from kindness than confidence. But kindness from her? "Thank you. Well... This won't translate itself. I've got to get back to work."

"Goin' to the library?"

"I think I'll work from home today, it's only typing, not sending materials. If you think you could keep it down to a dull roar?"

"Maybe."

* * *

"Maybe not." Wesley came over after several progressively loud hours, and gently clicked off the television.

Faith's abusive shout died abruptly, then changed to an annoyed snipe directed at Wesley. "We were just going to see if the twins have been sleeping with their biological half-brother-slash-pimp!"

"And as horrific as that is, I'm sure you can live without Mr. Springer's revelations until I finish this one very technical section. I can hear you even in the bedroom."

"You're so stale, man." Faith grumbled and glared, and went back to the flexibility training she was supposed to do. "And these pretzel twists you have me turning into- not helping. More leg cramps than ever." She panted and unbent her legs.

"That means you're dehydrated. No more soda or caffeine, only water for a few days, and it should clear up." Wesley was putting his laptop and disks in a satchel that had come with the computer. "I'll be back around four. I thought we could try out a new routine. I found a recreation center offering a free month's trial, and they have a pool, an indoor track, a terrain course- excellent for all the muscle groups."

"Uh. Yeah, okay." She gave him a quizzical look. "Isn't that kind of pointless? We're out of here in a couple days."

"Oh. I suppose we are."_ I was just getting comfortable. The men in plaid have stopped staring when I go to the bar. The manager seems to have forgiven Faith. I even have a corner in the library's computer center... _"You know-"

"Don't you have deadlines?" Faith asked, voice suddenly cool.

"I do. Yes, I'd best go."

* * *

Deadlines must be met, and the library is only open for so many hours a day. Eager to get his first copy done, a text translated into Russian, so that he could submit it and get his first real paycheck, Wesley worked around the clock over the weekend. He typed, consulted stacks of paper, and since he didn't have email capability from the apartment, called his agency or their affiliates as a last resort.

* * *

It drove her crazy to hear him yammering on in strange languages. Okay, _one _strange language, but still. It alarmed her completely absent sense of trust. He didn't do it often. Faith knew he usually used the library for most of his work, but the library probably frowned on you working for twenty four hours straight, and mumbling. _Looking kinda shabby, too. _

It was the mumbling she minded.

She lowered the stake she was twirling absently in her hands, and stared at him, head cocked, eyes slit. _He could be saying anything. I'd never know._ _He might not even be going to the library, he might just be saying that._ She felt stupid. The stake in her hand skittered across the floor. Her arms dangled, flexing the hardening muscles, arms rebuilt more swiftly. Her tattoo rippled, a little black flare, like a flag raised.

_Mr. Smart Ass. Mr. Clean Cut. Never had to fight, always had to let us fight for him..._

_ Except that time he saved my life, dragged me across the state, completely bad ass, and yet somehow- gentlemanly when he could be. _

The flexing ceased. Faith sat back, listened and watched.

"Etot razdel ne imeyet uglubleniya, no bez subtitrov. Eto chto, oshibka?"

Faith's dark brows rose high on her pale face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you'd speak Russian primarily."

Wesley turned his head and she could see the phone cradled under his unshaven jaw now. "I was calling from Trans- Lex. My name is Wyndham-Pryce and I'm translating a- oh good you have the file. I'm on chapter nine, and this section has indentations, but no subtitles. Is that an error? The previous chapters had both. Ah. Yes. Well, if you'd email me a list of the subtitles and where they belong...? I'll receive them later. Oh, no, I could take them down. That's even better. Excellent." Nodding, "mhmm"ing, and scribbling followed, until Wesley concluded, "No trouble, I quite understand. Thank you."

Faith walked without support for short distances, from the couch to the table for instance. She did that now, hovering over Wesley as he pointed to something on his screen and stared at something on a thick stack of paper. "Hey, Wes... What'cha doin?" She swung her long leg in the black, torn denim over the seat of the chair as he hung up his phone.

"Oh just a bit of medical translation." He flipped through the manual he'd gotten, lifting it from the the long brown envelope. "It took forever to get hold of someone there..." He mulled over it, then opened up his notebook. "A few finalities and I'll be off to the library to do the actual sending."

She craned her neck, but he was already putting the papers away. She realized she couldn't read the language anyway.

"Sure." Faith rose, and slunk over to him, hands behind hips, swaying slightly. Always a cross between wary and seductive, when she wasn't pissed. "Big job, huh?"

"Nine chapters."

"In Russian?"

"Yes, that's right." He smiled up at her for a brief moment.

Faith almost shook her head. She was doing the sexy stroll, modified version, but c'mon. Nothing besides a glance? Not like she wanted him to get all over her, but he totally disproved her "every man is a beast" theory. Slightly annoying after having been treated like a sex symbol since you grew boobs. Faith reminded herself that she'd been treated like that- but never by anyone that actually hung around, anyone she liked. "A textbook, huh? What's it on?"

"Hm?" Wesley finally realized she wasn't just passing by, but was actually talking to him. "Oh. It's ah- a medical textbook." She nodded, dark eyes wider and expressive, asking him to elaborate. _She must be terribly bored._ "It's about various treatments for prostate cancer." He explained. Faith made a sudden wince, and on reflection of the subject matter, he nodded and joined her. "Terribly uncomfortable reading actually." He reflexively crossed and uncrossed his legs.

"Wesley! You talk about stuff like that in front of a lady?" Faith cracked a grin, because she liked seeing the reserved side come down, and because it eased the tension of her own mind yelling at her for mistrusting Wesley, and for thinking badly of him, when here the guy was doing really hard, gross sounding jobs just to put a roof over their heads. The gross job was actually helping people thousands of miles away.

Wesley blushed, even though he knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about, simply factually discussing a serious medical condition. _It's the way she likes to tease, coarse, goading... thoroughly uncomfortable._ "I- uh- I never had - this type of work, so I never did discuss it with a lady. Or otherwise."

Faith frowned and cocked her head. "You never joked around with anyone before me, did you?"

"I- have tried." He said stiffly.

"_You_ tried. No one else ever made wise cracks? That's a 'Faith thing'?" She probed, wondering how the hardworking coach she was starting to like could magically revert to a tea-drinking piece of cardboard unable to answer a question without stammering.

"No. Taunts were usually meant as cruelty. Growing up, that is. Hrm." He stretched his neck, as if his collar were suddenly too tight. "Once one enters formal training and pursuit of a degree, one doesn't find anything remotely humorous in the world of Watchers and fighting evil."

"Wow... no wonder you've got such a stake up the ass sometimes."

Wesley's lips thinned. "I'm sure. Now, if you'll let me get back to work?"

"Sure, whatever." Faith wore a mask of indifference, but inside she was slightly stung. She considered going back into her room, but for some reason stopped at the couch, sitting on the arm.

"I wasn't being cruel. I'm good at cruel, but that time, I was just yanking your chain." Faith told her nails.

Wesley's eyes remained fixed on his screen, spine stiff, but soaking in every word.

"I know about what snots kids can be. 'Hey Faith, who's that bag lady who lives with you?', 'Hey, Faith, are you going to the dance? Guess not. You'll be kicked out by then.'" She blew her hair from her face with a huff, running her hands over her crossed arms. "You have to forget them, Wes. You moved on, grew up, kids from school-"

"That's all well and good if you go your separate ways. It never stops when the cruelest voice is your father's, and you work in the 'family business'. 'You received a 'Distinguished' on your most recent submission? The panel must be drunk.'" His face darkened. "Even as a child. 'Stop your sniveling, can you do _nothing_ right, you'll disgrace us at Headquarters, what kind of man will you be?' " Wesley stopped abruptly.

Faith's face was not dark, rather curiously blank. He risked a look at her. "Faith?"

"We've got thick skins. Different types, but they're thick enough to let the bastards know we don't care." _At least pretend until we fool ourselves._

"Ah. Well. I'm trying not to." Wesley smiled bitterly. "But, it's not _my_ skin I'm worried about saving at the moment, so I really should get back to this. If you're finished?"

Faith gave him a long look, guarded and unreadable. Finally she nodded. "A good man. Damn rare." She rose and stomped unevenly off to her room.

Wesley's brows drew together. "A good man?" Wesley shook his head after her, puzzled. He slowly began to type once again.

It was several pages later that Wesley realized she wasn't making a random statement. She was belatedly answering his father's question.

Though his father wasn't around to hear her words, and though he wouldn't have believed the opinion of a rogue slayer, Wesley was grateful. More than grateful. Shocked.

Maybe, for the first time, he believed that he was.

* * *

For the first time in a very scary month of his life, Wesley felt like celebrating. Truly celebrating. "Faith! Faith, are you awake?" He swung through their apartment door as the sun set.

"If I was, I'm not now." Faith poked her head out of her room. "You're home early, and in a good mood. Putting whiskey in your tea?"

He ignored the jibe, too jubilant to care."The work was submitted electronically- _emailed_." He announced proudly. "And I received a confirmation receipt. It said 'payment processed in two to three business days.' It's a success!"

"Woo hoo!" She emerged from her room, barefoot, in her usual regimen of black on black, and to his surprise, high fived him heartily.

"I know! It's not a lot, but it's something."

"It's awesome! And I think I'm back on my feet. Y'know, for little bits at a time. Next town we get to, I'm chipping in, okay?"

"Now don't rush your recovery." He said sternly. "We can manage. We'll manage better once I get the other piece finished."

"I'm not rushing. As soon as we get settled in." Her knee suddenly buckled, the price of overdoing it, using supports less and less when she wasn't ready. Wesley caught her elbow and pushed her to the side of the hall so she could get her balance using the wall. "Right. A job. _Maybe_."

* * *

She helped with the dishes that night, not that there were many. He noticed her taking the tea things from the room, back to their box. _That's right. As soon as things get better, we must move on. What if it's not as good in the next place? What if it's a step backward, or a step in the wrong direction? _Anxiety prompted him to speak.

"We don't have to leave. In fact, if you like it here, I could see if we could find a more permanent setting." He offered. "Nothing _too _permanent, but a - a short term lease?" Wesley added hastily.

Faith slowly rose from her stooped position over the boxes in the corner. Her look shouted that he was an idiot to think of such a thing. Her voice confirmed the look. "Are you _stupid_? Dude, you might not be hunted down by the Council-"

"Nor are you!"

"Maybe in a year I'll be sure about that. _Maybe._ I'm still wanted by the mere mortals for other stuff."

He nodded, then paused. "I don't want to play devil's advocate-"

"Oh, this is gonna be a good one." Faith rolled her eyes.

"The police may want to question you regarding the deaths of the deputy mayor and the professor. However, if you're being sought right now, it is more likely that they want to just make sure you're alive. As far as they know, you've been kidnapped. You were on life support. They most likely- hrm- imagine that you're dead."

Faith nodded. "I want to keep it that way. If they do find me, sure they'll say, 'Great you're alive. Now let's talk about these unsolved murders.' Then they question me. What am I supposed to say, Wes? You gonna tell me to lie?"

"No..." _And then where does that leave us? I don't believe she'd best learn a new way of life, find a way to heal, find a way to simply _become_, rotting in a cell. I don't think a cell could hold her. I don't know what she thinks or feels about the matter, only that she knows she shed innocent blood, and she wishes it would wash off. A Lady Macbeth who didn't wish for fame and glory, only to survive and have someone show her any kind of affection. _

"You want me to turn myself in?" Faith prodded when his single word answer seemed to hang in the air unfinished.

_No! _The shout rang in his mind, and he barely quelled it before it burst from his lips. For purely selfish reasons first. He couldn't imagine a life without her, even after this small space of time. "I think that's up to you." He finally said hoarsely. "I think you wish you hadn't done it."

"Hey! Don't-"

"I'm not 'psycho babbling' at you, or whatever else you were about to say. I know you wish you had no innocent blood on your hands, and you can deny it if you like. Only, I don't think the best testament to your desire to change is to pay for two human lives by sitting in a cell, when instead you could save a thousand more. It doesn't usually happen like that, Faith. Where for once, in the whole span of human kind, you actually have the chance to restore what you took. I know it's not the same, not the exact same lives, but thousands more."

Hope flickered. Doubt tugged. It's too easy to let the rage swarm you, and you just- love the rush, the power, the dark, the thrill... All of it tingling in your blood stream like you're an animal ripping out a throat. "What if I don't ever save anyone again? I'm not sure I'm 'battlefield ready'." She tapped her temple with a rueful smile.

_At least she thinks about it. Worries about it. That's the greatest maturity and strength a powerful being could have- to consider if they're in control of the power, or is it in control of them._ "I think you'll get there. In time. No rush." Wesley reassured.

"What if I _don't_?" She insisted. Expecting another great motivating speech, she was confused when he seemed to be struggling for words, looking all twitchy.

"I'd say, even if you never move beyond this point- you've rescued two lost souls. Does that count for anything?"

_ Two lost souls?_ Faith frowned. Then it clicked. _Me and him._ "Dude. You know you did the 'rescuing' here." She pointed out with a cross between a snarl and a smile.

"I disagree."

"You're the brains, the money, and the wheelman. What the hell have I done?"

"Kept it going, planned, advised, sacrificed, worked... you've made it worth while." He stood up, patting her knee with a single smart tap. "I'd better start packing."

"But- hey." _Way to change tactics, English. _

"You feel better moving, then we move. Do you think a month to month lease would kill you?"

_Four weeks. Time to get familiar with the locals- not enough time for them to get too familiar with you. Time for the Watcher formerly known as Pain in the Ass to get his mail and do his responsible thing. Maybe time to get a part time, cash only kinda job._

_ That still means you move twelve times a year. Holy crap. Never thought about it like that. _

"Okay."

_Okay? Simple as that? Ha, when were things ever simple between us? _"Good. Where to?"

"You pick. Someplace with a library and a bar."

"I'm sure every city has those things, Faith." He pointed out drily.

"Looks like you're free to pick any place you want. Riding the open highway..." Wesley's eyes glazed over, that faraway look, the half-smirk...Faith laughed to herself and continued, "Yep, free as a bird, picking any town you see, no one telling you where to go." She walked past him, off to do some packing of her own. For no reason she could think of, she reached down and slapped his behind in a friendly sort of way and whispered, "Go get 'em, John Wayne."

"That wasn't my John Wayne face, that was James Dean!" He called after her, blushing and rubbing his lower cheek in surprise.

"Anything you say. _Rebel._" The last in a throaty laugh.

He groaned faintly. _Maybe some tea before packing the kettle away..._

* * *

_Dawning_

They left at sunrise, simply a force of habit, beginning in the dark, avoiding detection. "Where to, Mr. Dean?" Faith smirked, alert from adrenaline.

"Now stop that." He was the opposite of alert. Groggy and sore from double checking everything and loading the car. "I haven't picked a destination. I thought we'd stop at the next major city after a day's drive."

"Sounds like a plan."

That was it? No arguing, no snarking? They gave each other incredulous sidelong glances.

"I do believe we're starting to get along." Wesley said with a cherubic smile.

Faith nodded slowly, then reached down thoughtfully to the radio, flipping the dial with uncanny expertise to the loudest heavy metal station she could find. "Aren't we, though?" She gave him a cheeky grin.

He pushed the wire rims up to his forehead and rested them there. "I said we were getting along. I didn't say a _miracle_ had occurred." He shook his head. _Although, considering where we started, and considering where we're headed, I'd say there might be a bit of a miracle somewhere._

* * *

"Why James Dean?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I had you figured for Churchill or- some other stuffy English guy."

"Churchill was not stuffy! He was an incredibly tenacious, eloquent-"

"I take it back! Geez, God save the Queen and stuff!" Faith held up protesting hands.

Wesley grinned faintly. Then mused. "I never thought about why. He died young. He did an incredible amount with a short life, and he did it- at least in the films, in his own way. Critique didn't bother him, he simply- he _rebelled, _he_ fought _to be understood, seen for what he was. Messily, powerfully. But he did it. I don't know. Envy."

_Everything has to be heavy with this one..._ Faith hadn't expected anything that heartfelt. "I thought it would be the motorcycle and the smokes."

"Oooh. Those were jolly impressive as well." He said with just a touch of longing.

"I never thought your parents would let you watch things like that."

"They didn't. When I was at boarding school a group of the lads snuck out and watched it at a second run cinema. I learned to like John Wayne in the double features."

Faith snickered. "Okay, Cowboy. You picked big shoes to fill."

"I know, unlikely fits, really. What about you? You must have idolized someone. Who was your childhood hero?" _Madonna? Catwoman? Some other tough girl, a femme fatale, a cross between the two?_

Faith's soul tucked into a protective crouch. "I didn't do that crap. I had bottles to duck and booze to clean up. I didn't have a 'hero'." She shifted suddenly in her seat. "I'm beat. Mind if I -?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. Not at all." Wesley watched her turn her shoulders to him, head huddled on her chest, forehead to the glass, feigning sleep as he drove miles of sparsely populated highway.

_You can tell me you never had a hero, you could tell me why. You could tell me it was your drunken mother, simply because she was your mother, I'd understand. God knows I worshipped and feared my father all these years. _"You could tell me anything..."

He whispered it so softly, to himself, not to her, but she still heard him as she pretended to be asleep.

He drove into daylight. She closed her eyes to it.

She relived this deja vu moment. Hadn't she turned her back on him before, in this same car, on another half-deserted highway? Hadn't she still ended up spilling her guts to him?

Wesley jumped in his seat as the seemingly sleeping figure suddenly began speaking, still curled to the side, talking in a flat, empty voice. "Laney Perkins' mom. Mrs. Perkins, I guess."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what we're talking a-"

"My hero. Laney was this girl in my class, kindergarten through third kid. And sometimes at the bus stop people would call 'Laney!' and sometimes I'd think they'd be saying 'Lehane!'. But it was never someone waiting for me. It was usually her mom. Her mom came to every stupid pageant, every 'graduation' where you move from one grade to the next. She baked cupcakes the size of your face for Laney's birthday every year. She decorated for class Halloween parties, she volunteered to come on field trips... She'd come in for story time... She made the best Christmas cookies for the winter party..." Faith realized she'd slipped into some dangerous form of sappiness and jerked herself out of it. "That was my hero. Nothing special. Just a mom with too much time on her hands."

Her return to silence dared him to say the wrong thing. Which would have been very easy for him to do, because he had no idea what in the world would follow those remarks, so ordinary, but so telling. His heart, which seemed to have a growing number of soft spots for this woman, desperately wanted to be comforting and consoling, to say that it was never foolish to admire someone who showed love and commitment to a child, to any other person. He could tell her that wanting a better parent was something they had in common.

"Wes? I can feel you_ not_ talking. Just say it's stupid or say it's so sad and you pity me. Get it done with." Faith curled her fists into her chest, half huddling away, half coiling for a blow.

"I don't know what to say. I don't pity you. I _am _sad."

Her fingers loosened slightly. "It's not much of a 'hero'. No way in _hell _is thatwhat I want to become. I mean- I'm not having kids. EVER."

"Heroes aren't always what you want to become. Merely what you wish to see in the world."

She considered. "Okay, Yoda." She turned in her seat, looking over at him.

"More in homage to Ghandi, than Yoda, I thought." They shared a wry smile, his mellowing to something soft and misty.

"Fuck, Wes, if you start to cry-"

"I'm not!"

"You look like you're about to start knitting baby booties, all dreamy eyed. What's the what?"

"I was thinking. Someday, _you_ could well be some little girl's hero. She'll see you save someone from a terrible fate one night, and think, 'Golly, I want to be like that one day. So strong, fearless, and beautiful, saving innocent lives and fighting against those who would do others harm..." Drat. Now there was a lump in his throat, as he imagined himself being there, in the background, seeing this moment as well.

" 'Golly'? Really, Wes? You been around children in the last couple decades?"

"_That's_ what you choose to comment on?"

"Never gonna happen. I'm not a hero. I'm a Slayer. Or I was. Might do it again." She gave an agitated roll of her shoulders, conflicting thoughts on that topic crowding her mind.

"Slayers are heroes." Wesley stated with conviction.

"Then Watchers are assholes." She spat. Wesley looked like she'd slapped him. "You can't lump us up like that! We're _not_ all the same."

"Fine." He conceded.

"Good."

"But-"

Faith groaned. "Dammit, Wesley, let it die already!"

"But," he insisted, ignoring her, "I do think all of you are heroes, in your own different ways. If you think you can't be one because you've made mistakes-"

"Because I've broken every single one of the top ten, Wes."

"I don't imagine Mrs. Perkins was perfect. Look at James Dean. The smoking alone- not a positive role model, Faith."

"You're a wuss, Wes."

"If all slayers are different, then all heroes are different. I hope one isn't prevented from joining the ranks of the heroic based on something we did in the past, or none of us would ever stand a chance." Wesley informed her doggedly. When she didn't say anything, his voice took on a note of pleading. "If heroes were supposed to be perfect, then they couldn't be human."

"Not arguing." Faith said in a tone that contradicted her words. "I'm just sayin'. Me? Not hero material."

"You're a very stubborn person." Wesley said after several seconds, in a very clipped voice, hands gripping the wheel extra tightly.

"I'm leaning away from the role of sexy as hell villain, though. How's that for compromise?"

"I'll take it." He paused. "Is this where I give you a 'high five'?"

She laughed soundlessly, rolled her eyes, and after a minute, grudgingly stuck out her hand. He patted it.

"Harder, Wes, I'm not gonna break." This time he did it right. "There you go. That's what I'm talking about!"

"What are you talking about?"

"It means you did good, Wes. Hey, can we get an Egg McMuffin or something?"

"In a few more exits."

"Sounds good."

* * *

"Good for another couple hours?" Faith managed to walk back to the car on her own, and didn't even stumble. Which is what gave her the sudden idea.

"I'll go until we find a place for the night." Wesley said, then yawned enormously.

"Uh. Hey... You know- my legs work now." Faith didn't go to the passenger side, but stood by the hood.

Wesley's eyes suddenly forced themselves to look bright and chipper as he walked past her and pointedly opened the driver's side door. "Indeed they do. I'm very pleased."

"Can't lose my balance in a car. With a seatbelt." She smiled winningly.

"Faith..."

"I can't get us lost!" Her voice took on an edge of whining. "We're not going to a someplace special, so not like I can screw up on the directions."

"Did you even pass your driver's exam?"

"You bet. I have my license."_ So I had one point less than I needed. Little 'lip service' gives everyone an A._ "I never got a ticket in my life." _Cops aren't bad in the backseat. Or a field. And the ones you can't persuade to give you a 'warning', well, you just give them something worse, and ditch the car in the next town. Not like any of the cars were mine to start with. _

"I think I can manage today."

"You look like you're gonna pass out."

Yes, and he felt like it, too. The Watcher wasn't supposed to watch twenty four hours straight, was he? Yet he felt like he had been doing so for days. "That is possibly the only one of the last three statements I believe." Wesley sighed, and tossed her the keys.

"Sweet!"

"Should we pray before you take the wheel?" He moaned.

"I'm only gonna drive for a couple hours. I promise."

"Hmm." He made a noncommittal, slightly worried noise.

"We can switch it up. So you sleep a little, then I sleep a little..." She sat behind the wheel, fingers flexing eagerly, foot revving the engine.

"Only two hours to begin with- and_ only_ if you promise you'll stop if you feel a muscle spasm coming on." He cautioned, now not sleepy at all. More like consumed with anxiety.

"Don't worry so much." Faith put the car in motion, and Wesley clung to his seatbelt. "You take good care of me. I'll give it back."

He relaxed marginally. Then much more, the first sign of tension leaving sending a resurgence of exhaustion to his system.

"You look like shit."

"Perhaps I should've borrowed some of your make up after all." Wesley giggled giddily as he began to slide into that overtired state of mind.

"Not your shade, Wes."

"No... I'm an Autumn ... something or other." He shook his head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

Faith watched him. _You know he's the biggest fool in the world, right? He gave you the keys to two tons of death in metal, a mega bullet that can go a hundred miles an hour. Then, he drifts off to dreamland. _

Her inner voice scolded._ He's not the fool. _You're_ the fool. You still think about hurting people, just to see how much you can push, then see if they'll come back. Or to get rid of them, to be alone and hate it, and then wonder why you're alone... Like a hamster stuck in a ball. You know you're the one who can put yourself back in the cage, or keep yourself out of it. _

"Ah!" Wesley gave a pre-sleep exclamation, accompanied by a violent twitch.

"Whoa, it's okay. All good. You're safe."

"I know... you've got the first watch..." He mumbled dreamily.

"That's right. I'll take this shift, you get the next one." She agreed in a soothing voice that felt strange to her.

He smiled at the dome light of the car. "Heavens. If we go on being civil to one another and making compromises... we may actually become friends." He sighed contentedly. "I'd like that."

Faith snorted skeptically. "Don't hold your breath, Wes." Inside, the woman who had long ago started seeing people only as tools or liabilities suddenly wondered if she knew what a friend was anymore. "Yeah. Could happen." Faith muttered. _Could have already happened. We just don't know how to handle it._

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper, Illusera, Jewel74, Cavemenftw, Sirius120, and The-Darkness-Befalls._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XI**

_Caring_

"Wes? Wes, wake up." Faith shook him and he merely mumbled. She shrugged and shoved his shoulder.

"It's on your desk!" Wes shouted, startled.

"Great. I hope it's a sandwich or something 'cause I'm starved."

Wesley sat up. "It's dark!"

"Happens at night." Faith said easily, not looking at him.

"You said a few hours! You've driven - good heavens, it's nearly ten." Wesley scooted up in his seat and immediately winced. "Good Lord, my back."

"I know, my legs are one big ass cramp. And my ass-" Faith rubbed at her numb seat.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Wesley peered into the darkness.

"I tried a couple times, but you mumbled and snored and went back to sleep." She said innocently. He frowned and she gave him a snarky pout. "You slept through a twenty minute live set of a Hammerfall concert. You were _out_." Her eyes had a rare moment of softness before the brash armor went back up. "You needed the sleep and I liked _doing _something for a change. Can you please shut up about it?"

"I- I- yes." Wesley let it go and opened his door, legs and back complaining loudly. They were in front of an all night diner. He surveyed it skeptically. "Well, any port in a storm. At least now I'm feeling quite refreshed- if somewhat in need of a change of clothes and shower. I can drive while you rest." He stretched, waiting for her to limp over to him. "Perhaps with a one month lease perhaps we can procure an actual apartment with proper kitchen facilities, instead of relying on take away and order in so much. The sodium content we've been-" He turned, speaking over his shoulder and stopped abruptly. "Faith?"

"Still in the car, genius! Can you come pry me out now?" Faith's arm waved at him.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" Wesley rushed back and helped Faith to her feet, wincing in sympathy as he heard her cursing out her stiff muscles. "We really should have stopped and let you walk. And-" Wesley looked at the dash of the car. One arm around Faith's back, one reaching back to touch his wallet, he frowned. "We have a full tank. We must have stopped a few times for gas. How did you pay for the gas?"

"I hope they have mashed potatoes. I could go for mashed potatoes." Faith said as if he hadn't spoken.

"Faith- what did you -"

"Get your hand off my ass."

Wesley raised his hand as if burnt. "Oh! I'm s-so sorry, I must've - that is, I didn't mean to- Hey! My hand is nowhere near your-"

Faith laughed and stumbled forward, catching herself, and giving a cheeky smirk over her shoulder. "Don't worry so much. No one got hurt. I promise."

* * *

"Shall we find a hotel or drive a bit? I'm good for several hours." Wesley said confidently, a meal and a coffee under his belt.

Faith's permanent debauchery almost made some comment about his "stamina" but she quelled the impulse, having picked on the guy enough for a little while. "Drive as long as you want, Rebel."

"Stop calling me that." Wesley chided, but inside he quite liked the honorific. His shoulders relaxed and assumed a position of indifferent confidence, and the set of his jaw changed to something more cocky and reckless.

"Whatever you say. I don't need to stop. I've slept in a lot of cars. Mind if I take the backseat?"

A request of a lady brought out the instant chivalry, and he he swung open the backdoor for her. "No, please, I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in the backseat." Faith quirked one dark brow.

"What're you tryin' to say, Wes?"

"Your legs. You could stretch them out." Wesley looked momentarily mortified.

"I know what you meant." _Dammit. He's really- guh. I need to toughen this guy up, or I'm gonna go crazy. He takes everything I say so seriously._

Faith settled in, her boots resting on the back window, her stained but laundered denim jacket folded up as a pillow under her head. _Maybe because he actually cares how I feel. So I care- a little bit- how he feels. _

_ Still, the guy is such a pansy ass sometimes..._

"Thank you for driving so much today. Any thoughts on where we should stop?"

"Not a one." She shrugged uncomfortably when he thanked her, like she'd done some big thing. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Like I said, you looked like shit. _Tired _shit."

Though the coarse language rankled slightly, he brushed off her denial. "I wasn't making a big deal. Simply thanking you for what you did. Looking after us, driving, and apparently saving a considerable amount in our gas budget."

"Since I'm so great, you think you could shut your mouth and let a girl get some sleep?"

"I'll consider it." He smiled to himself and turned east off the exit ramp. He turned the radio on and hastily shunted it from the all screaming station to something lighter and more soothing.

"Lullabies now..." Faith grumbled. "Spare me."

"Hush or I'll hide your precious lipstick." From the backseat he heard shuffling, and felt her fingers reaching, brushing at his arm, then giving up.

"Good one, Wes. That's the stretch version of a five, okay?"

"Okay." In the dark he smiled more broadly. "Sleep. I'll wake you when we stop."

* * *

She slept. She kept waking up, but she'd say nothing, listening to him humming softly along to the classical garbage. Sometimes he'd even sing if there was an opera part, changing from what she guessed was German to Italian as easily as he'd speak English.

Faith rolled painfully to her side, and put one arm over her head, trying to muffle the sound, force herself back to sleep.

Words rolled around in her mind. _"Looking after us..." _

_ I don't take care of people. Unless you mean in the "splat" kind of way. _

_ I've never even had a pet. I always wanted a dog. _

_ Wes might look like a lapdog, but there's some Doberman under the Pekinese. He's not a dog. He's a person. God, I need to sleep. _

She tossed again. Turning on her other side, this time she was staring straight ahead, watching him bob his head and tap his fingers gently on the steering wheel. That didn't help. Watching him didn't help at all.

_He's been "looking after" me for weeks. I hated it. Then I kinda just put up with it. I _still _put up with it. Don't like it, I'm not stupid enough to like it. He'd better not be stupid enough to think me taking a shift of driving means I could ever look after, take care of him, or anyone. Or anything. I don't do that. _

_ Driving was mutually convenient. Saving money, same deal._

_ Buying him tea was just- I don't know. Nice of me._

She rolled back with an audible groan this time.

"I think we ought to get you into a soft bed." Wesley flashed concerned eyes to the backseat.

Faith muffled a snort. _Had your chance, English. That would have made it okay. In an "I hate your guts, but I'll take your money" kind of way._

_So much easier than caring about someone. Or for someone. _

"Just keep driving."

"If you're sure?"

"I'm positive."

_I can't run away this time. It's gonna be hard. Fuck, man, I hate having it hard, the power was supposed to make it easy, want, take, have, living the cheap and kickass, you know?_

_ I was supposed to get my body in shape, leave my head alone. _ Faith gave a single savage kick to the backseat. "Muscle spasm, no big." She lied hastily.

"If we come to a park, or even a car park, I'm stopping to let you do some walking."

"It's going to be after midnight. We'll get mugged."

"You won't let them hurt us, and I won't let them hurt you. Muggers beware." He said, ignoring the horrified inner voice that cried he was being foolhardy and reckless.

"You're giving me a headache." Faith snapped.

"I am? How?" Wesley seemed genuinely bewildered.

_You make me think too much, just by being around you_. "Never mind. Just let me sleep. I don't want to walk, don't want to talk. Wake me up when we get to where we're going."

* * *

"Here we are. I don't think anyone would be up but joggers yet, so we've time to drive about, take in the lay of the land." Wesley woke her up at five as a golden sunrise lit up a fairly picturesque city, quiet, small, and with a number of charming red brick buildings.

Faith sat up. Then laid back down. "Keep driving."

"Why?"

"It looks like Shirley Temple or the Munchkins are going to pop out and start giving out cookies." Faith put her jacket over her head.

"You said I could pick, and I've picked." Wesley said with uncharacteristic firmness. "I've already passed two lovely little parks and seen two signs for libraries. And we've only been in one area."

"Then drive from this area to the not so damn cute area." Faith demanded crossly.

"I shouldn't have woken you."

Faith sat up with a grimace. "Yes, you should. I gotta pee."

Wesley sighed and began looking for someplace that was open at this early hour.

* * *

"They have an opening." Wesley pointed to a quaint white conversion, a big old house split into flats.

"What part of cash only dives don't you understand? Go around again."

"We've been in Indiana for five hours and all I've seen is a very dark highway and these eighteen blocks." Wesley protested.

"If it looks nice- I don't belong there. And if you wanna be where I am- then you don't belong there either." Faith stated, crossing her arms.

Wesley didn't reply, merely swung the car around, heading to the more rundown part of the city. This whole city itself was fairly nice, but like any town, large or small, it had a "shady side".

Faith seemed to find her dislike of the well maintained place growing. The city was now waking up, people smiling, getting coffee, running to work, catching buses. Even the buses were blue and white instead of all over grime gray. "What's the name of this place?"

"Hm?"

"The town."

"St. Elizabeth."

"Oh, that does it! Wes, no, I'm not staying in a town named after a saint!"

Patience snapped. "Would you _kindly _stop thinking this entire world revolves around you and your sins? Millions of people have made mistakes, thousands have murdered, and all of them have the potential to recover if they _stop wallowing back into the blackness_!" Wesley's voice rose until it soared, shocking the hell out of both of them. Then it crashed and he panted, blinking furiously, as if unable to believe he'd just watched himself shout at the highly dangerous woman beside him, "Now - now- put your seatbelt back on and - and _appreciate_ that we are in a nice place for once. We survived a Hellmouth, no thanks to either of us."

It took everything she had not to hit him. She was angry. Angry meant hit. Hit meant keep hitting. Keep hitting meant don't stop until they can't hurt you anymore, maybe ever again.

_If they just stop wallowing in the blackness..._

* * *

_I raised my voice. She simply feels unworthy of beauty and niceties, and I shout at her? Thank God she is a young_ woman_, and not one of the younger Slayers called just out of childhood. I'd turn into my father._

"I'm so sorry-"

"What about that red brick with the outside fire escapes?"

They spoke in unison.

"Lovely." He replied with a grateful smile.

"It's okay." She forgave him and agreed with him in one word.

* * *

"A one month lease for a furnished unit. Your sign did say month to month, up to and including yearly?"

"If you're doing month to month we ask for cash up front." The landlady looked wary. Wesley thought the wariness was directed at Faith who was leaning on her floral printed wallpaper blowing a bubble the size of her head.

"Of course, that'll be fine." Wesley gave his most winning smile, elbowed Faith lightly, and began handing over money. At the sight of the readily opened wallet the landlady lost some of her hesitation.

"You travel for work?"

"I - we do." Wesley nodded and elbowed Faith again.

"Well,_ he_ does... I'm just along for the ride. Right, Honey?" Faith didn't take kindly to being elbowed when she considered herself on good behavior. She leaned on Wesley instead of the wall and her face transformed into a look of sappy adoration- up until the eyes, which flickered with malicious amusement. Wesley looked like he might be choking as he nodded stiffly.

"Oh, a homemaker? Isn't that _nice_?" The matronly countenance lost all suspicion now and fairly beamed. "Not enough young women do that. In my day, that was what everyone did! Well, you just let me know if you need to borrow anything in the way of pots and pans. That kitchen only has a few basics. If you're going to be doing any big roasts or you need a double boiler-"

"Homemaker?" Faith's skin returned to its fresh-from-a-coma coloring.

"Thank you, Mrs. Baker, I'm sure Faith would_ love_ to take you up on that. You haven't made a proper roast in ages." He gave the suddenly ill at ease brunette a saccharine grin in return.

"Ohh... you're right. There's one thing I know I really, _really_ wanna roast right now." Faith's smile became agonized as she prevented herself from cursing in front of the nice old lady who'd just put the key in Wesley's hand and tucked the money in her sweater pocket.

"You're the first door off the right on the second floor. I'm the front rooms, right here if you need those pans, dear."

"Thank you so much. I'm sure we'll love our stay." Wesley spoke for both of them. Faith remained mute, a fixed smile on her face. "Won't we?"

"Just the best." Faith dipped her head, and tightened her grip on Wesley's arm, now slid through her own.

Wesley winced as they walked away. "Your nails are breaking the skin." He muttered once they were safely outside.

"Why did you start saying that stuff?" Faith hissed back.

"I don't know, why did you suddenly pretend to be an adoring, helpless female just following me about, 'Honey'?" Wesley asked pointedly.

Faith replayed the last disastrous moments in her mind. _Yep. It all started with me being a wise guy. _She shrugged away from him and lifted the trunk lid as he opened the car. "Whatever. That old lady better be cool. I don't cook, and I don't take care of, and I don't 'home make'."

* * *

That first day, they did the on the run version of setting up a house, though neither would ever think of these temporary shelters as "homes".

"This is so much nicer than the last place." Wesley sank into a faded floral armchair.

"Why'd you only bring in half the weapons?"

"You can't want all the weapons in here, can you?"

"You have all your books."

"I'll go down again... I'll bring them to the window off the fire escape and pass them into you."

* * *

"I'm done in the shower. Where'd you put my make up?"

"I don't know. I thought you had it." Wesley coughed and looked away when she appeared in the hall in a towel. At least these were proper towels, thick and fluffy.

"I need to buy a purse."

"I need to find the library. But first, I need to wash off a layer of dust." He looked at his hands. His hands were actually- well, quite manly looking now. Not soft with buffed nails and fine scrapes on the tips from poring endlessly over books. He still had the scrapes, and under them- hard pads from hours of typing, carrying, dragging, and generally battling them both back to life. Some sort of life. Some different life. Wesley tried not to think about how very different this life was- and how it was hardly the life he wanted. _Look at me. I'm not really doing much for her but moving her from cheap place to cheap place. I'm more of a human bankroll than a Watcher. _

_ Yes, I kept her alive, and now she's getting better. We even get along. We snipe at each other quite well, at least. _

It was a guarded existence, and he didn't think much of it at moments like this, when he was sweaty and dirty and Faith hadn't exchanged a civil word with him in hours, except to ask or tell where to put things in their new little flat.

"You want tea? I think I know where the cups are." Everything was set up, put away. It didn't take more than a few hours when they had so little.

"Tea would be most welcome." Wesley smiled at her, looking up as she disappeared into her room. For a split second he saw her cheek dimple, and knew she'd smiled back.

_Not really a bad existence. I prefer it from what I had. I hope she does too._

* * *

_Better_

"I'm afraid things are a bit tight just now." Wesley came back from the library where he'd worked for hours as well as checked his bank balance and emails. While his payment had been processed by the firm, the money hadn't yet been made available by the bank. The payment for his first translation should be accessible shortly, but still-

Faith looked up from the television. She was hanging upside down off the love seat, knees over the back, white tee falling up over a rapidly defining torso, her hands locked behind her head.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Pull-up slash sit-ups. You weren't here to hold my ankles , the shower curtain rod doesn't hold up to ex-Slayer strength, and everything's funnier upside down." She rolled to her knees and clicked off the set. She began sitting up in what would have once been a smooth motion, but now had lurches and grunts, and needed two hands to brace herself against the plush cushions.

Wesley came over and hesitated before he reached out and brushed hair from her face. "Very inventive."

She didn't shy from his touch, but blew the other loose strands off her face with a puff from full lips. She focused on his statement. "Money's tight?"

"Yes. Rather. I'm quite glad you saved on our gas bill when you could." He grinned stiffly. "I hadn't expected to pay for a month of front for some reason. I'd gotten used to the week by week arrangement.

"You're not used to this at _all_, I get it." Faith shrugged. She'd been in this situation tons of times. "We've got some tea and stuff left. I'm not worried." Faith lied. She always worried, she just always_ did _something about it, something she wouldn't be doing now. She didn't realize that her lies were to comfort him as much as comfort herself.

"That's good, because you needn't. I think we'd better go to the market rather than pick up take out for a little while, that's all. And as Mrs. Baker has so graciously offered you the use of her cookery items-"

"Hardy har har." She looked at him with something that might be a saucy smile, might have been a grimace. "You off to the store?"

"Yes, as soon as I put all these papers away." He paused. "Why don't you come with me?"

Faith openly scoffed. "You take hours when you shop. I bet you read the labels and compare prices and stuff."

Wesley looked offended, drawing himself up slightly. "You need the best nutrition to heal- oh, I ought to buy you some vitamins." _Well, obviously. What kind of numbskull are you overlooking something so obvious? You know what she's been living off of. _

"Take my vitamins? Aww geez, Mom, do I hafta?" She joked with a whine. But the words rang hollow. No one had ever cared about the small things like the amount of vitamin C in her juice or if she was staying well.

"I insist."

"Wes- Slayers don't die from living on burgers and day old doughnuts. I did it for years, even without the Slayer package." She shook her head, voice still light, eyes still pretending to laugh. "You know how hard it is to kill me?" The smile died.

He froze. "Yes. And I'm very thankful." He whispered.

_I'm not. _How many times had she wished it was over? Especially after the "accident" followed by turning on Buffy and the closest things she had to family, and- and all the crap that came after. She'd thought sure someone would have taken her out by now. Even though she was scared to go, sometimes she still felt like she deserved it. Felt like whenever something good happened, some tiny nicety was shown- that it shouldn't be for her. "You don't need to worry about me kicking off from lack of iron, okay? Unless it's 'cause some blood sucker got me and hey- no blood, major iron deficiency."

_She jokes. All the pain, and all she does is turn those dark eyes even darker and shrug. Like the judge putting the black cap on, gives herself another sentence. _

He coughed. "Well, I still insist you come to the store. It's prolonged walking and standing, but you can hold onto the cart. I know you don't want to use a walking stick."

"No!"

"Whatever will Mrs. Baker say if she sees you send your - send me out to do the shopping on my own. Surely that's woman's work for the happy homemaker? Unless I bring things home on the way from the library." _Which I will most likely do in the future._

Faith closed her eyes and groaned.

"What if I said please?"

She lurched off the couch. "Shut your face, Wes."

"Excellent, you're up. Does that mean you're coming with me?"

_The dude won't quit. _"Will you leave me alone if I say yes?"

"For several hours, at least." He grinned.

"Deal."

* * *

"Do you want some chicken?"

"Okay."

"I could do sausages and mash."

"Okay."

"I could do a plate of tripe in a lungs and liver sauce." Wesley stared pointedly at the girl leaning listlessly on the cart.

"Sure. Hey- what was that?"

"Something I won't be attempting." He put some packages in the cart and pushed on, her following behind. "Some pasta and some rice, some staples. Canned goods. And of course the fruits and vegetables."

"Mmhm."

"Faith? Opinions welcome. You may not _actually_ be cooking, but you will be eating." Wesley prodded.

Faith looked at him, eyes that were blank suddenly focusing. "Get something crunchy."

Wesley put pretzels in the cart and kept his mouth shut, humming softly to himself as he compared prices and labels, keeping a running total in his head. Eventually he said, "Well, that'll hold us, with some money to spare. I like to keep a little tucked away for emergencies. Always best to be cautious."

"You? _Cautious_? Rambo in wire rims." Faith said in a voice hovering between dubiousness and sarcasm as she wheeled them to the checkout.

"Well, perhaps at times." _I was rather gallant, dashing in and saving her. Rather stupidly gallant. If I'd been more prepared, we wouldn't be worried about where the next month's rent is coming from. On the other hand, if I'd waited to become more prepared, she'd have died, and I wouldn't be in this mess. I'd be in a whole different level of hell._

"Earth to Wes. In line, money out, food goes in bags." Faith stepped back to let him pass.

Faith watched him set things out on the conveyer belt, Mr. Manners, polite and almost deferential, back to the front, quickly answering all the typical questions from the smiling cashier, plastic or paper, cash, check, charge, did he have a store card. Boring. Normal. Everyday. She didn't like it. Too normal, everyday, boring.

Too much like having a home.

Her eyes strayed to the racks of gum and candy under the magazines. _Comfort food time. _

Wesley stepped back from the register, trying to keep his face a perfectly steady, smiling mask as he watched her slip a packet of Starbursts in her pocket.

"Your total is-"

"Could you add a packet of these?" Wesley held up a candy from the rack, then placed it back. "We were snacking as we shopped."

"All right, just swipe your card."

"Cash, thank you."

Faith's eyes seemed to turn black. She stayed silent and seethed.

Until they got out of the store, back in the car.

"Ow!" Wesley caught the candy at full force on the thigh as he took his seat.

"Are you going narc on me now?" Faith demanded furiously.

"I didn't tell anyone!" Wesley shoved the candy back into her hand.

Anger and embarrassment filled her. She'd been caught stealing before. More often she had avoided detection, but the times she hadn't taught her to be really, really smooth at it. The prices she'd paid for getting caught far exceeded anything she'd ever taken.

_Leave it to the Watcher to be the one to "see"_. It rankled in a dozen ways, and she spewed her venom at him."These places are making tons of money, including what you just paid tonight! They can afford to lose a candy bar or a soda every now and then. And I've taken a lot more, I've-"

He cut her off. "I'm sure they can, and I'm sure you have. But I think I can afford to take care of us. I said I had a little left over for-"

"_Emergencies_. Maybe a little snack is an emergency when you grow up on Moneybag Lane in the best house on the block, but where I come from, an emergency is -"

"An emergency to _me _is when you want something, or show an interest in something, and you think you have to steal it. You can't even toss it on the belt with a cheery little 'I'd like this, too please'. You don't even tell me." _Such a small thing. But the small things are all I have from her, tiny hints that we might succeed. In contrast to such huge warning flags that I'll fail. As I always fail._ His voice was quiet and hard, full of self-loathing. "I'm not surprised you don't think I can manage to take care of the small things when the big things have been so terribly touch and go, and..."

She tuned him out as soon as she heard him start berating himself, because those reasons had nothing to do with her actions at all. _I oughta let him ramble. It obviously hurt. And he hurt me. Unintentionally._ Probably why she cut him off, shaking her head. "No. Wes, nothing like that. Okay? You do it up nice."

"You don't have to lie to spare my feelings- though that's rather nice of you." He realized with a small quirk of his lips, meant to be a grin. "Perhaps Mrs. Baker's home is better than our last accommodations, but I don't think it's actually very 'nice' at all."

"This is better than anything I've ever had." She admitted honestly, pretending her voice hadn't just given a tattletale tremble.

Silence.

_It'd be so nice to simply believe. But..._ "I saw what the mayor could provide for you, Faith."

There was a war inside, and she didn't know what words or feelings were going to come out, and mainly she wished everything inside her would be shutdown and shut up. She liked it better that way. Or she had, until recently.

Words, and yeah, some feelings, too, came unwillingly out, "I like this better."

They were both surprised. Shocked even.

Sometimes when you're shocked you see past everything you were doubting and complaining about, down to the heart of the matter, down to the core, and you have one of the fleeting moments of clarity.

"I like this as well." Wesley admitted. He reached over, shook her sleeve to make her look at him. "Honestly, Faith. I may doubt sometimes, but honestly, I - _do_ like this better than what I had previously. And- this is the best thing I've ever had." Wesley spoke gravely, not allowing her eyes to escape. She began to shake her head, and his hand moved down, suddenly, boldly clasping hers. "_This_." The hand squeezed tighter around hers. _Being with you, helping you, caring for you, being cared for, even in small amounts because I know, when I stop being a fool and _focus_, that to you it's enormous... All of this..._ "_This_ is the best thing I've ever had."

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the kindness and support for my little character study piece. I know it's a slow transformation, but I do think it's the appropriate pacing for this wounded warrior and warrior-to-be._

_Author's Second Note: If anyone has any artistic talent and would like to make a "cover" for this piece, please do let me know via PM. I would love to have something that captures the essence of the piece and characters. Thank you so much._

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper (my technical advisor), Cavemenftw, Sirius120, Jewel74, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, and Kathryn Merlin._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XII**

_New_

Wesley liked this library. This one reminded him more of the Council's, though it was vastly smaller. But unlike a capitol city's library, experienced at their last stop, this library was less gray and impersonal. It had polished hard wood floors and many fewer computers, which concerned him at first. Also, unlike the the librarians in Lincoln who mainly watched to make sure rowdy youths didn't misuse the lab privileges, this librarian made time to speak to him- at least after he'd been there for five hours a day, five days running.

"Are you a graduate student?" The lady asked kindly.

"Hm? I- ah, no." Wesley decided not to complicate his life further by lying. At this moment, anyway.

"Looking for work?" She said sympathetically, gesturing to the computer and stack of paper he was now pulling protectively close to him.

"No, I am working. I believe the term is 'telecommute'? I just come in to check emails from my employer and do some typing." He answered haltingly.

The librarian nodded in further sympathy. "No computer at home?"

"I have a laptop, but no internet."

"If you'd like to bring your own in, and just bring your ethernet cable, we have a few designated spots for that."

"My- what?"

"Your ethernet cable."

"Oh! Oh, jolly good."

"I was only mentioning it because when school starts in late August, there's going to be a lot more students here in the open lab."

"Thank you. Thank you, that was most kind of you." Wesley nodded gratefully. He waited until she left, then tucked his papers in his satchel, logged off, and walked quickly from the building, pulling his phone from his pocket.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hello, Willow."

"Wesley! Are you okay?"

"Very well, thank you." Wesley let her get through the standard formality questions before he blurted desperately. "Willow, what is an 'ethernet cable', and what does it do?"

* * *

_New city, same routine. Sorta._

There was one of those small city colleges nearby, with the usual couple college bars, no dives, and they had a track open to civilians, a fact Wesley found out criminally early. She walked it alone in the morning, he walked it with her in the late afternoon. She ran the bleachers circling the track, alone in the morning so he wouldn't see how many times she fell down. She ran them again with him later in the day, usually still falling, but falling less.

There was a park with actual ducks and actual kids with moms and the occasional dad. Sunnydale had that too, but Faith had felt fairly confident that Sunnydale's park was also full of demons just looking for snacks, which made the cherry suburban atmosphere acceptable to her. Here she looked at kids chasing balls and ducks chasing breadcrumbs and felt severely out of place.

She went home early that sixth day in the city.

* * *

"Hello there." Wesley was coming up the street from the north as she strolled up from the south.

"You get out early for good behavior?" Faith called and he waved. "Everything cool?"

"Five by five, I believe the expression is." He grinned.

"Don't even._ My_ line." She laughed though. When he tried to relax he was- kinda cute.

She waited for him at the edge of the house, and they rounded it together, up to their fire escape. Without ever having spoken about it, they'd decided to avoid going into the lobby and interior of the house as much as possible, avoiding conversations and curious looks.

Avoiding conversations with others, but not avoiding talking to each other anymore. Not since they both realized whatever mess they were in- it was still the high point of their very different lives.

Faith had summed that up rather nicely, after their strange shopping trip and the conversation following it. "We're sad, Wes. We're two sad,_ sad_ people."

"Fairly pathetic. But I'd say things are improving. Wouldn't you?"

Things were.

* * *

Faith entered the apartment with some measure of her old grace, and Wesley stifled a proud smile. "Did they finally kick you out for hogging the computers?"

"No, although that entered into it." Wesley hurried to his room, still speaking. These rooms, while small, were furnished more like a home than a flop house. Instead of merely a bed and closet, his room, the larger one, had a desk and a small dresser, so he used it as a workspace as well as bedroom.

"Yeah?" Faith took off her jacket and shoes, started piling her hair up into a sexily sloppy bun. "Some librarian pick on you? Want me to go show the bitch some moves?"

He smiled. "Hardly necessary." He came out holding his laptop, the manual and a long blue cable, a faintly mystified expression on his face. "Do you know what an 'ethernet cable' is?"

"I'm gonna bet it's that blue cable-shaped thing." She said cheekily. "Now who's the smart one?"

"Well, yes," he ignored the playfulness in his haste to share new knowledge, "but listen to what it _does_." He was genuinely excited. "If I take this to a place with internet access, and I have permission, I can simply plug this into the wall, and - a port-" He turned the laptop sideways and studied it. "Anyway, the point being, I can stop switching from disks and programs, back and forth, hacking and risking getting caught, and simply use this, because the librarian and Willow-" he ignored the momentary darkening of her face, "explained how an ethernet cable works." He looked pleased.

Faith's smile peeped out. "Nice, Wes."

"Oh, on another note, both my paycheck and the estate money have been deposited. We're solvent." Wesley had saved that news as a sort of balm to the wound if Faith had been upset about him contacting the Sunnydale lot.

Faith felt like she'd just dropped twenty pounds of bricks from her shoulders, but she couldn't let him see the relief, just the happy. "Alright! Now that_ is_ five by five!" Both her hands up high, both of his quickly, if awkwardly, raised to meet hers, and then they laughed.

_She's simply so- _lovely, _when she laughs._

_ Damn. He is cute. How'd he get cute?_

"I'll have to do some budgeting, of course. Future expenses, pay back some of my debt, there's all the postage to be considered that I've already spent, I need to send Giles the money for that mailbox in my name, I-"

"Wes. Five minutes of happy, okay, Dude?"

"Ah. Yes." He grinned and began to head into the kitchen. He wasn't a bad cook, though he didn't have much experience. He'd never really made more than the occasional meal prior to moving to California. What he really missed, now that he had tea, was a glass of wine, or using a dash in his cooking. He used to make chicken in a simple white wine and tarragon sauce.

_ No wine, red or white. No tarragon. Well, best carry on with salt and pepper._

She came in and stood at the sink beside him and started pulling over potatoes. "Do I use a knife or is there some kind of special tool for these suckers?"

"A vegetable peeler." He opened the drawer, and yes, the thoughtful Mrs. Baker had provided one. "I thought I'd make the chicken."

"You gonna fry that bad boy?" Faith started attacking the potatoes as if they'd injured her personally.

Wesley stared. _Dear God. She's a master with any sort of blade. If she ever went dark again, if she should ever-_ he stopped that thought. "I don't think I bought anything to fry with."

"No big."

He washed and seasoned. She peeled and chopped.

"We should do something since you got-"

"I was wondering if a small celebration was in -"

Another laugh, another realization that things were pretty good. At that moment.

"Yes, indeed." Wesley smiled. "I think some shopping is in order. You said you needed a new handbag?"

"Purse. The queen mum has a handbag, I have a purse. Well- I don't usually _do _the purse thing, but since you might take my makeup for your little drag show-"

"Hush now."

"I guess I could have one. Keep you from swiping it. You'd never go through a lady's purse, would you, Wes?"

"I suppose not. You could also use something in the way of clothes, I'm sure." She'd been living in the same four outfits day in and day out. Night as well, taking a clean teeshirt and pair of- hrm. Wesley had done their laundry for over a month now, as well as having picked out every stitch of her clothing while she was too weak to move, but he still blushed when it came to the unmentionables. "Sleepwear, perhaps?"

"You tired of seeing me in my briefs?" She teased.

"I - no! I mean, I don't_ like_ to, there's not a preference, or- or a dislike. I merely meant-" He sighed. She chuckled, deep and throaty. "Would you like pajamas?"

"Maybe." She grabbed a large pot from the cabinet below the sink, purposefully wiggling her way down with a sultry smirk. Guy was throughly consumed with canned vegetables now. Hey, give him points for being that tenth guy, the one who wasn't wearing a mask, who didn't have a hidden agenda. "I was thinking we deserve a drink."

"A drink?" _A nice cabernet... _

"We've been here almost a week and we haven't hit up a bar. We pass three on the way to the track."

"Do you think they have wine?" He asked longingly.

"Good wine? No. Some kind of wine? Yes."

"Then after an early dinner, I say we do shopping and a night cap."

"Sounds good."

* * *

"I just wanted to check in. I haven't heard much from you in a week, I wanted to make sure you're settling in." Mrs. Baker bustled into their flat, the next morning, coffee cake outstretched.

Faith, in new pajamas, black of course, a spaghetti strap tight tank with slightly flared black shorts, just stared. "Hi?"

"Ohh. Am I waking you?" Mrs. Baker seemed both surprised and sorry. "It's after nine. Is your husband already at work? I used to get up thirty minutes before Mr. Baker did, get the coffee going. Man was a bear until he'd had his first cup. Then when we had those coffee pots with timers, you could set them the night before, but I don't think I trust those things. I had a cousin, Judy, her entire house went up in smoke, the dishwasher circuits overheated, though how the fire could start with all that water..."

"My husband?" Faith scratched her head vigorously with both hands, trying to get her brain to work. Shoving dark handfuls off her face and neck, she managed to make her eyes focus. _She means Wesley. Right._ "Yeah. He, uh- he's already gone for the day. He lets me sleep in."

"Oh, now isn't that nice?"

"Yeah... I'm spoiled." Faith hugged herself, bare skin prickling with the just woke up chills and lack of clothing. This was the first time in years she didn't have some kind of bruises. The first time in ever she'd actually owned actual pajamas. Or had a person letting her sleep in.

"That's the way it should be. The husband takes care of the wife, the wife takes care of the husband." Mrs. Baker moved through the kitchen like she owned it, which she technically did, getting plates and cups.

Faith woke up as her hands fastened around Wesley's fine china. "Oh. Hey." Faith retrieved them with Slayer swiftness and a delicate touch she didn't know she had. "Sorry, these are um- these are really special to him, and we only have two, so-"

"I understand. Mr. Baker was the same way with his father's steins. Could only use them at Christmas."

Faith blinked. "Is there something we need to do?" She finally asked. It was an effort. Her original statement had been, _Look lady, it's the buttcrack of dawn for me, I'm a night person, so can you get the hell out of my kitchen and stop staring at me like you've never seen a pair of boobs before?_

"I figured you might be lonely. Being new in town and you traveling around all the time." Mrs. Baker was unperturbed, proceeding to cut huge slices of heavenly smelling coffee cake and put it on plates. "Wanted to make sure you had everything you needed."

"We do. I - we kind of um- kind of keep to ourselves." Faith said pointedly, nibbling a piece of cinnamon crumb topping as she stood at the table, refusing to sit.

Mrs. Baker nodded, oblivious to the attitude."I was like that and then-"

"Holy shit, this is amazing." Faith's eyes widened as she swallowed, then plopped down and grabbed a fork.

Mrs. Baker blinked, and the unceasing flow of words finally came to a halt.

"This is like- heroin good. What's in this?" Faith licked her fingers.

More blinking. "Nutmeg?" She finally whispered.

"Nutmeg is the bomb then. Is this hard to make?"

"No..." Mrs. Baker seemed unable to get a grip on her fork, watching Faith cut a second slice.

"Wesley's good in the kitchen, but he never-" Faith suddenly gave an uneasy smile and took another bite to stall. "I mean, I'm not really much of a baker."

"More of a main dish cook?"

"Sorta."

"Would you like the recipe for this?"

_ Do I look like I bake? Right now I look like I pose for Hustler's skankier mags. _"No. I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble! It's in a cookbook, I can just lend you the whole thing. Might even have a roast recipe in there. Is it true about Englishmen?"

Faith's fork froze halfway to her lips. _Oh no. Is this like black guys? Think, think... no, I never fucked a British guy. Are they good in bed or not? Crap... "_Is it true?" She repeated slowly.

"There is that old stereotype about the British and what they love." Mrs. Baker laughed.

_Stereotype. I don't know the stereotype. Just be complimentary._ "Well, I don't know what the rumors are, but Wes_ is _damn good. Just won't quit. Talk about your mild mannered exterior. Whoooeee. No. He's like- James Dean under that bookworm front." Faith told the truth- in part. Just not the part Mrs. Baker meant.

"I meant that they love roast beef." Mrs. Baker looked beyond lost.

"Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, he's all about the roast beef." Faith winced inside and some of it leaked through this time. Mrs. Baker winced in sympathy. "This is..." _So awkward. But I think Wes'd get mad if I punched her out. I mean, I wouldn't have to deal with her looking at me for ten minutes, but when she woke up, same problem. _"This is really good cake. I think I- I'd like the recipe."

"I'll bring the book. Yes, I'll-I'll got get it, right now." The landlady nodded, and fairly fled.

Faith put her head in her hands as the door closed. "I'm starting to miss vampires..."

* * *

"I'm back!" Wesley called to the bedroom as he came home. He was almost magically led to the table, a spicy, delightful scent pulling him by the nose. He looked around and pulled off a corner of the cake left on the table. "Mm. Mm! Faith? Faith, did you make this? It's extraordinary." _If she made it, it's beyond extraordinary, it's miraculous._

Faith popped her head out of her room. "Mrs. Baker did it. You're later than normal, aren't you?"

"I did the shopping. This is delicious. She's a marvelous cook. I'm putting the kettle on." _I can have proper tea. There is a God._

"She's a marvelous motormouth, too." Faith grouched. She stopped scanning the cookbook and hid it under her pillow before walking nonchalantly into the living room.

"Oh dear. What'd she say?" Wesley asked worriedly from the kitchen where he was simultaneously putting away the perishables and laying out his tea things.

"Don't worry about it."

"I passed her in the car park. She barely said two words. She just looked at me rather strangely."

"Yeah... She might keep doing that."

Wesley craned his neck around to look at her. Faith smiled uneasily and hurriedly grabbed one of the bags of groceries from the floor and took it to the counter. "Oh, you don't have to-"

"I'm walking like five miles a day. I can hack a little unpacking." Faith lifted out a dozen eggs and a gallon of milk, opening the fridge.

A six pack. Top shelf, wreathed in a little halo made by a tiny lightbulb. Faith swore she could hear that weird harp music they use in cartoons when something magical appears. "Hey. There's-" She began pointing, and he began speaking.

"I can't stand Miller. I can't stand American beer in any form. I just thought you'd like it, so I picked it up for you."

Her stomach went all warm inside, and it was stupid to get fuzzies at time, but especially not over a six pack. "Why?" She swung the door shut and went back to the brown paper bags.

He repeated himself, expression and tone unchanging. "Because I thought you'd like it."

Faith made sure he didn't see her smile by going to go get another bag.

Starbursts were in that bag, stuck between the lettuce and the apples. The warmth in her stomach turned into a weird, worried knot._ He's really nice to me. Just to be nice. And he really, really picks up on the important things. Even when I'm freaking at him._

The idea she'd been playing with became a resolution. _I'm going to do something nice for him._

* * *

_Gestures_

"Oh, hey. You're here." Faith entered the apartment to find Wesley already there.

Wesley tried not to look either annoyed or relieved. He'd been home for an hour, and she was no where to be seen. He knew she couldn't be at the college track because it was used midday, and he knew, admit it or not, that she was still completely exhausted after her morning workouts, and by her own admission starving afterward, so she headed right in for lunch. For fifteen minutes he'd been assuming she was just a bit delayed, for the rest of the hour he'd been giving into increasingly terrifying scenarios involving her being captured, injured, run off, or killed.

"Yes, I am, I've been home for an hour now." He said with a faintly panicked edge in his voice. He expected an explanation of her whereabouts. He didn't get one.

"Cool. You finish something?" Faith asked.

"Hm? No, Mandarin takes a long time to format. I'm nearly done, and they've sent me seven other work requests. I don't even think I can accept all of them, the deadlines are too close together." He sighed. "I wish I could though..."

"Don't worry about it, we're doin' good." Faith came to the living room, kicked off her shoes, flopped back on the couch and grinned languidly.

_Maybe she simply changed her routine for the day. I'm hardly in a position to dictate when and where she goes some place. I'd still like to know. I tell her where_ I _am. _"My employer sent an email that my visa paperwork was sent to this address, and they gave me a head's up on some additional documents I'd need to produce. I came home to see if I had everything and then I figured I'd go back to the library after lunch to make copies and finish another chapter."

"Congrats. Soon you'll be legal." She winked and channel surfed.

"Speaking of lunch- what can I get you?"

"I'm good."

_So she ate already. Not here. She ate out. That's not so unusual. Except it is. For us..._ Wesley gave her an openly puzzled look, one she couldn't ignore.

"What?" Faith rested her hands on her lean, torso, with its resculpted muscles. "It shocks you I can ever get full? Are you saying I'm fat, Poindexter?"

"Great heavens, no!" Wesley cried, horrified at his glance being so misconstrued.

"Oh, you think I'm too skinny?"

"You look fine!"

"Just _fine_?"

"Yes, just fine!" He said in some relief. _Not thin, not fat, perfectly proportionate and healthy, and what business is it of mine to comment on her size?_

"Bastard." Faith stormed off to her room, insulted. _Okay, maybe I'm not a ten, but I am so much better than a "just fine". I'm a hotty and I know it._

"But I..." Wesley looked after her, hands slowly reaching, bewilderment complete. "Did I do something wrong?" He hollered through the slammed door.

"For a guy with all the languages, you sure don't how to talk to women!"

Wesley shook his head. _But I barely spoke to her. I didn't even ask where she was._

* * *

"I'm going out." Faith said cooly.

"Out? Where are we going?"

"I said_ me_. _I'm_ going out. Not 'we'." Faith's frost-laden voice softened slightly at the instantly hurt look that earned her. "I just feel cooped up, okay? Restless, yo?"

"If it was about what I said yesterday-"

"We're cool." Faith grinned. "I'll be back in a couple. Chill. I can take care of myself." She opened the black denim jacket she wore to reveal his beautifully polished, virgin stake, and beautifully carved dagger that had never seen battle.

Wesley's jaw dropped, as did his current manuscript. "Are you patrolling?" If she was patrolling, he must go with her! First patrol as new Slayer, with a new Watcher.

Faith snorted once and rolled her eyes. "_No_." She slipped out the front door with a little wave and left him sitting in a pile of paper.

* * *

It happened again the next few days.

He tried not to care. "Oh, you're home, are you?" A loud yawn, as if he'd just woken up on the couch. "Must've dozed off. Well, night then." The picture of relaxed civility.

It made her angry. "You fell asleep?" Toss of the head, angry shrug, and another slammed door.

Another evening, another failed tactic.

He tried to show he was worried. "Faith, really, I should know where you are. Roughly. At all times."

"You my warden now? Got news for you, I don't look good in orange."

Until he was about to follow her and she was about to slug him.

* * *

"See you in a few." Another night, same deal as a half dozen other nights and mid afternoons.

"No."

"What?" Her tone was instantly dangerous.

"I said, 'No'." He was reaching for something in his bag.

Faith tensed. She wasn't at full strength but she could take a human- if he didn't put up of much of a fight. _But Wes wouldn't hurt me._

_Oh. That's neat. I know someone who won't hurt me. I haven't even been able to say that about myself..._ Faith's defensive posture dropped and she found her hands sliding to her back pocket, ready to counter whatever he had with a surprise of her own.

"Take this." Wesley put a small, boxy black object in her hand. "I won't bother you, but should there be an emergency, or you don't turn up in 'a few' as you say, I-"

"You bought me a phone?"

"It's the same as mine. You can add a family member very affordably with their 'Family Plan'. Oh, not that you're- but I- well, I have to say you're a member of the household so..." He stammered himself into silence. "Have I done it wrong again?"

"Nope." She kept her face blank with a painful effort. "You did it- so right." Her voice sounded oddly strained, and she nodded jerkily to get herself back in the game. "Thanks. I promise not to go crazy calling all my buddies."

"Oh, no, you have a certain number of minutes per month and we can add more. I'll show you the booklet, it's-"

"Wes. I don't have any- anyone I'd call but you." Another stumble, the tense voice was back. She made it hard, almost harsh on purpose."I don't like when people cage me. I tend to break the bars."

"I was worried. I care. I don't mean to cage." _Oh, yes I do. I've been trained to think that way, that a Slayer answers to the Watcher, the Watcher answers to the Council, and we are never in cages, but we're always in chains. But she'll break the bars, I'll break the chains._

"You I believe. _Only_ you." She had to laugh quietly. Guy had almost no shields. His expressions of joy and relief were just so damn adorable. She kinda wanted to hug him. But they didn't hug. It was an odd impulse anyway. A deep sigh and she flicked something at him.

Wesley yelped and snatched frantically at the air as a sliver of plastic assaulted him. "Ah! Oh! I've got it!"

"You catch like a girl, Wes."

"A bit of warning helps." He quipped and looked at what she'd thrown him.

Her picture. Indiana issued driver's license. Faith L. Pryce. Hair brown, eyes brown, age, weight, birthdate...

"You used Pryce." He was in awe.

"Not that, the age! Twenty one. I figured in a town with this many college kids, someone had to run fake IDs. I hit up the bars and the jocks around the track who are there for practice already until I found a guy who knows a guy, who's lousy at pool." She grinned, something sharklike and proud. "I beat him, best two outta three, I got myself a card, and now I can tend bar." He looked stunned so she kept talking. "Don't give me any crap, alright? I would be twenty one in December anyway, but-"

"Your birthday's coming up?"

"No, it's in _December_, which is forever away." The thought that they might still be together in December weirded her out, and she didn't think on it. "So I needed something in the meantime and I figured I'd better have a name that wasn't on the 'we can't wait to question you about a murder' list. I know how this works, I did it before. You don't take anything too steady, you just get friendly with the bartenders and the owners, whoever makes the call, and you pick up shifts when they're busy or their regular staff is sick. All cash, all under the table, sometimes I did it strictly for tips." She licked her lips in memory, the shark replaced by a tigress, heated and hungry. "You should see me mix a drink, Wes... I get twenties..." Her hand ran down her neck, head tossed back, hips swiveling, demonstrating.

The image sprang unbidden to his mind. A cherry swirling over her parted lips, an ice cube down something very low cut, and those searing eyes sending unmistakable invitations.

He blurted the safest thing he could think of, shocked at himself. "You used Pryce."

She groaned, seduction demo done. That was one reason she hadn't told him. She didn't want him to say no, she wasn't ready to work yet, she didn't want him to say no, don't do anything else illegal, and she didn't want him to make a big deal out of questioning her choice of alias. "Look, I figure we've been lucky so far. But maybe someday, someplace will ask for ID and it's not your full name... I can be a cousin or something. Just 'cause Mrs. Baker thinks you're the dorky version of a British stud and doing your husband-thing with me so much I need to sleep until nine every day to recover-"

"What now?" Wesley cried, ID drifting to the floor.

"Don't make a big deal! It's just a name that makes it safer!"

"But it's a very big deal to me!" He decided to let the last comment about studs and 'husband-thing' pass unexplained, chalking it up to, "Some places might have assumed we're married, so be it."

Faith snatched the card off the ground. _Great. Now I have to beat that loser in pool again...What name should I use this time? _

"I'm simply so- honored."

Faith's eyeballs attempted to leave her skull. "You're _honored_?"

"Yes. And frightfully pleased as well." _We're a team. We're- a sort of family. Dysfunctional, of course, but then that's nothing new for us. A family._ Wesley's look of touched pride suddenly changed to one that was gleeful. Almost impish. "Can you imagine what my father would say when he thinks of you sharing the family name?"

Faith laughed so hard she had to lean on him, doubling over. "Oh God... I kinda wanna watch you call him and let him know..."

"I kind of want to do that as well." He wasn't merely chuckling. He was laughing. She'd never seen him let go and completely laugh before. Really laughing. Laughing-so-hard-you-might-pee kind of laughing.

He hugged the form crashing into him as they fell in a giggling heap. "I've never heard you- laugh." Faith gasped out, wiping her eyes.

"I've never heard you- laugh like this." He took off his glasses and collapsed back on the floor, Faith sprawled alongside. "Thank you."

Faith grinned. _Nailed it._ "Don't mention it."

* * *

"You're more aware of a place when you only have a limited amount of time to spend in it. Don't you find?" Wesley remarked with a cheerful sigh as they walked across the now bustling campus, back from the track.

"What are you talking about?" Faith walked quickly- which was to say that she now could keep up with him, the mere mortal, after almost two months of intensive training.

"Well, we only have a week left here. In each town you notice things much more keenly, seeing as you know you'll probably never return."

"What? No." Faith disagreed. "You just let it blur. Bars, beds, faces- all the same really." He opened his mouth to protest. "Listen to the expert, Wes. I've been doing this a lot longer. That phrase 'seen one, seen 'em all' gets to be pretty accurate."

He paused, and was nearly run over by a string of orientating freshmen. "You're a dreadful cynic, do you know that?"

"Yeah, whatever." She pushed on, trying not to get winded. "I gotta beat feet, no time for talking."

"You mean no breath for talking. Which is good, then you'll simply have to listen." Wesley took a paper shoved into his hand. "Oh. Thank you!" He called to the waving person who was passing out more brightly colored papers. "Look, we've been invited to a- a 'rush'."

Faith rolled her eyes.

Wesley continued with his point. "You're jaded because you've done it so often. This is new to me, but I do notice things about our ports of call."

"You spend eight hours or more a day bent over a desk with a laptop."

"You're supposed to be too breathless for argument." Wesley had to admit she had a point. "Well, a certain level of anonymity is freeing. Being a Wyndham-Pryce working for the Council is the equivalent of working under a magnifying glass. You must always be the best, the picture of intellectual obedience, protocol- and other things you'd hate."

"Well, being Faith Lehane in the Greater Boston Area foster care system sucked too. You get a rep as the one no one could take for more than three months. The one who was a discipline problem. Psycho. Juvie. Bully. Target. Slut. Runaway. Whatever. I get you. Why do you think I don't stay anywhere for too long?" _Or near anyone?_

He was suddenly sobered. He dared pat her back once, quickly before she could tense and glare. "Forgive me for being 'Mary Poppins', but I'm making the best of the situation." He said briskly.

She laughed. "Yeah, you do that." She sorta liked it. He made the best of her. Completely foreign sensation, but yeah. She liked it. "All right, Poppins, lay it on me."

"Nothing you're not familiar with." He realized. "You see everything differently, and - they see you differently. Then you get to leave it behind." He turned an amused face toward her. "For example, I've been simply _thrilled _not to be a suspected transvestite with no color sense." She snorted out a quick laugh. "I'll also be happy when I bid farewell to Mrs. Baker. I've no idea exactly what you said, but she does titter and blush in a rather off putting way if we meet."

"I promise it was something good." Faith gave a husky whisper and leaned on him momentarily, seeing if he blushed.

Wesley flushed, but that could be hidden under the tan he was getting, or the five o'clock shadow he hadn't managed to remove today. "Ah. And you. Are you enjoying the role of doting housewife?" He asked facetiously.

"More like the devil in the big St. E." Faith moved away from him, outdistancing him with painful effort. "Hottest bartender around. Jack at the Blue Lizzie hasn't found all the staff he needs, and the students are back and starting to come in. I got a shift."

"You do? Tonight?"

"Aww. Don't miss me too much."

He _would _miss her. They spent enough time apart that they seemed to enjoy, without calling attention to it, there afternoon exercises and their few hours together at night. But he didn't smother. "I'll muddle through. Are you working until closing?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Unless it's dead."

"Would you like me to come give you a ride home?"

That damn confusing warmth came back into her stomach, so she tried to squash it. "At two in the morning?" She scoffed.

"I thought I saw he closed at midnight." They'd frequented that particular bar a few times, and as any good Watcher, he noted details. Faith had picked up a happy hour shift once or twice as well.

"That's because it's slow in summer, with all the little campus rats away."

"They're not quite back yet. Just the athletic teams and the new students."

"Wes. I'll be fine walking home. 'Kay?"

"Could you at least call me when you leave?" _Then I'll know whether or not to have a very unmanly, non-indifferent panic attack if you're not home shortly after?_

Faith cocked her head. "You do remember I'm wicked strong, right? Slayer stuff on tap?"

Whistling innocently, he bumped into her, and she stumbled forward with a cry. She would have been kissing asphalt if he hadn't quickly grabbed her by the elbow. "Your reflexes still leave something to be desired." He told the sky.

Faith spoke through clenched jaws. "You know you'd be paying for that with some teeth if I didn't- kinda- want to save my energy, right?" _If I didn't maybe like you a little bit, if you hadn't also just proved a point. Jerk. _"Look, I get that you have your undies permanently knotted, but you hafta realize- I've been walking myself home from way worse dives than Jack's since I was thirteen. I can take care of myself."

"I'm aware of that. You just also have to realize that I- never had anyone I care about perhaps rely on me. Slightly. At times." He added hastily.

What got her most? That soft serious "anyone I care about" or "rely on me"? One made the heat rush back in a good way, one made her temper flare. "You drive me crazy."

"It's mutual." He grimaced and muttered.

"I'll call when I'm done."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi. I'm leaving. It's like five blocks away, so don't wet yourself or anything."

His voice was mellow, half awake. Faith couldn't tell if he'd just been woken, or was trying to keep awake. "I shall endeavor to control my bladder. You be safe."

"Oh I'm safe. And I'm struttin'. I still got it."

"I know." He grinned into his palm as it supported his tired head. She'd left looking - he wasn't sure what the word was. She was wearing the pajama top for some reason. No, he knew the reason- its extremely tight fit and slim straps, chest pushed to new and dangerous heights. She completed the outfit with black jeans cinched so they hugged her hips, and her dark cherry lips glossed to a wet lusciousness. He wasn't sure what "it" was, but yes. She definitely had it. "I'm sure you were a great success."

"Let's just say I have fifteen phone numbers and some students are going to be a little light when it comes time to buy their books." She sounded outrageously pleased with herself.

"You've put a crimp in a few college educations in a single evening. Congratulations."

"Aww, don't be such a stick."

"It's one thirty. I'm afraid what you see is what you get at this hour." He groaned and eased himself of the couch where he'd fallen into an uneasy sleep, the _Portents for Demonic Manifestations _and a Turkish manual on optic laser calibration propped open on his chest. "Blast. My notes've gotten mixed." He realized as the pages fell to his feet when he rose. "Some poor ophthalmologist will learn about spirit walkers in the Ashundi language if I'm not careful."

She laughed. She noticed two guys smoking cigarettes on a front stoop. One whistled. She ignored. Didn't need the attention right now. "You drunk?"

"No. Just tired."

"Go to bed! I can literally see the sign for the house."

"I'll feel better if I see you."

_Sweet. _"Sap."

"I know. It's dreadful." He sighed in mock woe. "So, tell me about the life of the femme fatale bartender."

* * *

She came in, wearing a haze of secondhand cigarettes, beer, and too much pheromone-laced cologne, hanging up her phone as she opened the door. His face let slip one second of pure relieved happiness.

"Oh good. Well. You must be exhausted." Wesley said, rearranging his face quickly, now back on the couch, his papers and books restacked in neat piles on either side of him.

"No way! I'm wired." Faith grinned at the exhausted man, now leaner, cheeks no longer so fresh faced, but slightly hollowed with weeks of worry, eyes no longer haughty, covered in shadows tonight. He smiled at her energy, his head resting wearily on the back of the sofa. "Hey, Wes?"

"Hm?" He blinked. Relaxation was washing over him now that she was back.

"You ever had a lap dance?"

"No." He shook his head. It was a delayed reaction when the warning bells began to ring, when her hips started to sway and her smile took on something- different. It wasn't predatory or sexual, it was soft, teasing. "I never- um- I don't think I-"

"I never gave one. Not my thing." She sauntered over. "But I get the idea. You dry hump some tired businessman's hard on, and he shoves money in whatever you're barely wearing."

"Well- Jack didn't ask you to do that did he?" Wesley choked out as she was suddenly directly in front of him.

"Nope. I was just being brilliant. I am sometimes, just-" the grin broadened, "no one lives to tell about it." Her hips swung over his, one knee on top of a legal pad covered in strange symbols, one on a stack of papers in a foreign language. "I had this great idea."

"Faith." He sat up, inched back. "I don't want -anything like that- from you." Wesley tried to explain as inoffensively as possible, although his mind had just given him a very confused warning that Faith's nearness wasn't unpleasant and he shouldn't be so hasty.

"Well, thanks. I'd be pissed if I was gonna give you one. But I just invented the reverse lap dance. Minus the grinding." Faith tossed her hair back, rolled her shoulders, and her hands slid down over her rear- emerging with fistfuls of money. She giggled and tucked fives and ones into his collar as he squirmed and shouted, a few tens and a lot more fives between the buttons on his short sleeved button down shirt.

"Faith!"

"Gas money." She slid off her half-perch above his lap, a final twenty wriggling in a line from chin to belt buckle before she slid it behind the earpiece of his glasses.

"You earned this, you should keep it." Wesley started pulling money from off his person.

"Like you do when you translate all these big ass books?" Faith cocked one eyebrow in a way that meant only fools would argue.

"Ah. Well, I-"

"It's_ our_ money. I have the money from the other shifts. For when I need stuff." She realized she was no longer planning to bankroll a cut and run, no longer planning to run at all. It was an unsettling feeling, but one she knew she had to suck it up and face. "I owed you." She whispered.

"You've already paid me in full." He whispered back. "And you never 'owed' me anything to begin with." _She's simply- a very odd gift. A very odd, very dangerous, very beautiful gift._

_Why does he look like that? Like- I don't know, not like the Wes I used to know. Like a Wes I could get to know better in a big hurry. Too much looking. Too much, too close. _"I reek." She said abruptly. "The only smoke I like on me is mine."

"You smoke?" Wesley found the strangely tense atmosphere suddenly cracked and he was deeply relieved for it.

"Only when I want to. Are you done in there?" She gestured to the bathroom.

"Yes, yes, all finished." Wesley rose and nodded his goodnight in typical courtly fashion.

"Night."

"I won't wake you in the morning." He seemed to need one more thing to say.

"You never do." She reminded him. "Remember? You _exhaust_ me."

"Ah yes. Well, enjoy your last week as the happy homemaker." He winked and she waved herself backwards, into the shower, door shutting between them.

* * *

Faith stretched as the sun hit her. Noon. She could tell just by the way the heat and light blended. She'd been a night owl for years, and it felt good to be back in her routine, even for a day.

Except she wasn't waking up next to a bunch of used smokes and crushed cans on a seriously filthy sheet, scaring the cockroaches with her sudden panicked rise. She was waking up in a quiet room, with way too many flowers on the wallpaper, but whatever.

Healthy stuff in the fridge, nice shows on a little television, no one pounding on the door asking where your money for the rent was, no fast talking, no fighting...

_So boring I might slit my throat._

_ Except it ends in a few days, and I am getting better. I can't sit around forever, and a steady, strictly legal job is never going to be an option. _

_ Slaying, here I come..._

She dressed, she ran, she pretended not to recognize a couple bar patrons who looked at her lustfully, all the while thinking what it would be like to get back into action.

It would be awesome.

It would be terrifying, and she didn't scare easy.

It would kill her.

It would bring her back to life.

_Oh God. Not that old life. Not with Wes around. _She was annoyed, grateful- overloaded. She ran harder, hurdled the bleacher benches, trying to exhaust the arguing voices in her head.

_Look at you. You are so stupid! You count on him already!_

_ Well, he's stuck around._

_ You haven't given him any real reason to run yet. Wait until you slip up. Wait until you take out a vamp piece by piece, loving it, practically getting off on it. _

Faith didn't really doubt him. She had severe doubts about herself.

She clung to the idea of a few more days of anonymity, no identity other than the somewhat strange Mrs. Pryce.

* * *

"What on earth are we watching?"

"Simple Smashing Suppers on All Food TV." Faith popped a Starburst, followed by a handful of Rice Krispies.

Wesley winced. "Educational television for some. Much needed."

"Shut up. Look. That's how you make stuffing. Did you know that?"

"I've never-"

"Eww. I mean, I've gutted a lot of nasties in my time, but I never stuck my hand up someone's ass to do it. That is the turkey's ass, right?"

"I think I'd rather watch Jeopardy. I think I'd even prefer the hijinks of Laverne and Shirley." Wesley took the remote with a look of alarm. "Or, I know this sounds like a foreign concept to you, but I do have some books you might like. If not, I would willingly buy you one." He gave the television another disparaging glare.

Faith shrugged. "Not a big reader. If you had packed a pool table. Or even a dart board-"

"Darts?" Wesley's eyes lit up.

"There is no way you're going to tell me you can play a bar game."

"A pub game, and it's properly called feathers. And yes. I can."

She was up and in her coat in seconds. "It is so on. Best two out of three. Winner has to carry the books to the car when we pack."

"I hate to take advantage of a lady, but-"

"I ain't no lady." _And I don't think you'd ever take advantage of me._

* * *

"I always carry the heavier boxes anyway." Wesley consoled himself.

"You had me on the ropes, English. Made me work for that win, right up until the end of the third."

"Slayer precision. Should have known better."

"You're really good. I bet you're wicked good with a crossbow."

He looked pleased. "I could always use some lessons."

"You wait until the next town, and you'll be shooting undead bulls eyes. I'm going to need back up."

Pleased look became cautious happiness as he processed her statement. "Oh? In- in the next town?"

"Pick something with vamps. I might as well start easy. No clean up." Faith said in a tight, guttural voice.

"There's no rush. You're still healing. There's no rush." He repeated. He wanted to keep her safe. From herself, mainly.

"I know. It's not time yet."

* * *

"Um. Hi. Is this a good time?" Faith stood sheepishly by the door, hands clasped behind her back like a nervous child, then defensively crossed at the front, head tilting to the side with her patented tough chick look.

"Well- yes." Mrs. Baker blinked.

"Here." Faith thrust a white china plate at their landlady. "That was awesome cake. Wes was all over that."

"I'm so glad." Mrs. Baker took the dish with a look of slight surprise. "I haven't heard that you want a renewal. You'll be out at the end of the week then?"

"Yep. Four days to go."

"You must be busy. Packing. Cleaning."

_Cleaning? There's cleaning? Shit._ "Swamped. But uh- yeah. My old man. Never did fix him that roast beef. And I liked the recipe in your cookbook, but I -"

"Oh heavens, you can't make a roast in those little pans I have upstairs. I mostly rent to nice college students or people on a fixed income. They don't make big dinners. Does he like Yorkshire pudding on it?"

_Please let that come in a plastic cup in the dairy section... _"Crazy about it."

"Then you'll want to borrow the pan with the rack. Catch the drippings."

_Beef drips. Oh shit there's gonna be all kinds of cleaning. First turkey molesting and now beef getting me all nasty._ "Thanks. Thanks a lot. I'll bring all the stuff back tomorrow."

"Take your time! I know where you live." Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly at her own little joke. Faith gave a single strained bray. "What kind of cut do you use?"

_Clean, across an artery._ "Beef?" Faith asked rather than answered. Mrs. Baker looked confused. "You know. Beef. As long as it's beef, I can roast it." _I hope to God, or there's something wrong with this picture._

"Yes, I suppose you've had to learn. Cater to his needs."

_Yeah... Gotta get out my little white apron and some heels_. "He deserves it."

"I'm sure he does. He's lucky to have a woman like you."

No one had ever been lucky to have her. "Thanks."

"I'll get the pan for you. Come on in."

Faith hesitated and peeked in. Doilies. China puppies and flowers and crocheted things everywhere. "No, that's okay. I gotta run to the store." _I better make a list. How can roast beef have so many ingredients? What's fennel anyway?_

* * *

"Okay, your store? It's whack." Faith put down two pounds of bloody meat in front of some poor innocent stock boy's face as he stacked eggs.

"I- I'm sorry, ma'am?"

"Where is your _fennel_?"

"Uh... do you want it in a bulb or a bottle?"

"Huh?"

"Fresh? Chopped? Dried?"

"Screw the fennel. How do I know this is rump?" She shoved the meat at him.

"It- it says it. Right over the price."

"This doesn't look like rump." _'Cause it's like the size of a football. I've seen cows. On television. They look a lot bigger, 'specially the rumps._

"You can ask our meat buyer, but I'm pretty sure-"

_No more talking to people. I don't talk to people. I suck at it. I can only go five minutes before violence happens. _"Screw that, you can use this for roasting right?"

"I'm only 17. I never made a roast." He stammered nervously.

"Well, I'm twenty and I never did either." Faith spat. She sighed. Last item on the list. "Yorkshire pudding. I found banana, rice, tapioca, vanilla, caramel, and chocolate. Low fat, no sugar, no fat, low sugar, where the _fuck_ is _Yorkshire_?"

The boy reached into the hip pocket of his stained green apron. "Can I get a manager to dairy? _Now_?"

* * *

"Hey... When are you coming home?"

"At the normal time. I'm hoping to get this done. Sixty more pages, and I can send this off and concentrate on finalizing the visa process before we leave." He paused. "Why, is something wrong?" Faith had never called him merely to ascertain when he was arriving. Faith had never called him at all, unless at his explicit insistence.

"No. I just- uh- wanted to check."

"Are you working tonight?"

"No. Okay. See you in a couple hours. Later." She hung up before he could say anything else.

Faith braced her feet, shifting with subtle, agile motions, shoulders set, arms raised, game face on. "You're going down." She hissed.

The cold lump of meat didn't reply.

"Three and a half hours." She stared at the open recipe book. "Well he's gonna be here in a couple. So... turn this up." She turned the oven dial past the recommended setting. "That should work, right? Higher heat, cook things faster. Olive oil. Garlic. Salt, pepper. You better work, because you were mad expensive. Well, on my budget." She told the oil and garlic powder.

Soon the meat was awash in spices and carrots and potatoes were ringing the pan- and curses were ringing in the air. Nothing was going terribly wrong, Faith just seemed to regard cooking as swear-worthy.

Probably because it didn't come easily. Because she'd never made _anything_ with an oven, and her cooking experience pre-Wesley had been limited to hotplates.

_It's a girl thing. It's a sexist thing to say it's a girl ting, but okay- to me, it's a girl thing. Moms teach their daughters. You bake cakes and pies and Mom coos over your pitiful lopsided stuff like it's gold, 'cause you made it with your own little hands. My mom never asked me to bring her anything from the kitchen except a cold one..._

_ Being able to cook means you must want to be this little Suzy Homemaker, means you liked playing house. _

Faith drained the last of this week's six pack and put the cold can on her eyes. "So what? I'm allowed to pretend. For a day." _Maybe I would be good at it. I'd never hafta do it again, and Wes wouldn't tell anyone. That once upon a time, Faith Lehane did something nice and normal, and she didn't suck at it._

"C'mon. Channel a little Mrs. Perkins." Faith slid the roast into the oven and kicked the door shut. "I bet that bitch made smokin' roast beef."

* * *

"What's all that smoke? Faith? _Faith!_" Wesley entered the flat to a haze of gray and the beeping of a smoke detector.

Faith shrieked, not at the smoke, but at him."You said you'd be a couple hours! Damn! Stupid son of a bitch cheap oven!" Faith hurled something charred and football sized into the sink and turned the water on full.

Wesley dropped his satchel to the floor and climbed onto a chair to switch off the smoke detector. Next he leaped down and threw open a window. "What happened?" He coughed, waving the gray air out of his face.

"Why are you home so early? You said you had sixty pages to translate!"

"The last chapter was copied twice, so it was only thirty. I can go out again if you like." He answered in honest befuddlement.

"You're gonna have to. Pizza or McDonald's sound better to you?" Faith retrieved the black mass, still hot and burning her hands, with a particularly colorful curse as she slammed it onto the counter._ I _cannot_ cook._

"For the last time, what-"

"Roast beef. It's like the national food of British guys. I heard." She shrugged and looked miserable. "And I like a good beef on rye with spicy mustard. Mm. We could have sandwiches. You could take one to the library. Whatever. I watched a cooking show, figured I'd cook something." She shrugged.

He smiled at her like she'd shown him filet mignon instead of a head sized hockey puck. "What a lovely thought. Thank you."

"Oh, for God's sake, Wes- don't Mary Poppins me this time." _I can't be normal. I can barely be nice. Everything I try- gonna go up in smoke._

He ignored her, getting a plate, scraping the charred meat onto it, and peering at the little black nuggets that remained in the bottom of the pain. "Carrots and roasted potatoes? You did it properly, well done, you!" He sounded thrilled.

"Well done is an understatement. Wes, you can't eat this stuff!" Faith washed the black off her hands.

"I think we have some canned carrots. Bring a steak knife to the table."

"_Wesley_."

His full name. And she was most likely right. It was probably inedible. "Sometimes if you cut off the black bit, it's still very good inside." Stubbornness was champion. He fetched the knife himself.

Faith watched. "The black seems to go a long way down."

"Well... the best bit is the middle, and- ah. See. Perfection." Quite overdone perfection, but at least a dark, graying brown, not black. "Just enough for two for dinner tonight. Can you put the carrots on? And we have potato chips. Roast, potatoes, and carrots. Old fashioned English fare, with a new American twist." Wesley looked up from what he was hewing out for dinner, locking onto her liquid brown eyes. "I do so like my new American twist."

* * *

"That was a simply delightful meal." Wesley rested- and attempted to digest, whilst sitting on the sofa

"Nope." Faith laboriously swallowed her last mouthful of gristle-y roast and joined him.

"You have all the makings of a wonderful cook."

"And he's 0 for 2, ladies and gents. Damn. Do we have any Tums?" Faith belched.

"That was the first time someone's made a home cooked meal for me in -" E_ver. Mother had a housekeeper and a cook. The Council had caterers. University had canteen vouchers and take away curries. Joyce and Giles cooked- but I was merely included. It wasn't with me in mind._ "Many years. I hope you'll do this again."

"Not unless you fill me with uppers and get me drunk." Faith laughed. "You're out, Wes. Three strikes. You gonna be right about anything tonight?"

He thought. "Yes. You said I'd probably knock on the door, even if there was a fire. I didn't." He sipped his tea and smiled into the cup.

He caught a pillow to the face, glasses knocked askew.

"You're doing the dishes. I hope you have a spell for cleaning up burnt offerings somewhere in your big ol' books." Faith staggered off towards her room.

"I'll manage." Wesley assured her.

* * *

"Couldn't go to sleep. My stomach's survived a cringe worthy diet, but it can't digest my own cooking."

Wesley, huddling in boxers and a white undershirt, cautiously joined her on the fire escape. "Surely you can have indigestion in the house?" He urged.

"I just figured I'd enjoy some star-watching time. Isn't that what you do when you're normal? Look at the night and see the sky, not the corners and the alleys and the fresh graves?" Faith gave a dark snicker and sigh. She scooted over on the narrow landing, an invitation for Wesley to sit if he wished.

"I suppose it is. I don't usually do this either." He self-consciously joined her, well aware he wasn't dressed for mixed company.

"Nope. You lock yourself in the portable library- after spending all day in the actual library." Faith referred to his nights spent reading and re-reading his Watcher's texts. "I could really use a cig right now..."

Quiet stole over them. _Real_ quiet. For a college town in a reasonably large city, everything seemed to be still in the wee hours of the late August night.

His voice broke the silence gently, an unhurried whisper. "We can stay. You seem- happy here."

_Is this happy? Maybe. Is this _me_ being happy? Not as much. This is just me trying on a different life to see if it fits. Feels comfy, but it's not... not right yet._ "This isn't my kind of happy." Faith laced her fingers together and squeezed them, locking around her knees as she pulled them close. "You know how in Lincoln you were Mr. Drag Curious, and here you're Mr. Traveling Man, with his little wifey in tow? I'm just trying on different faces, too. Surly Fugitive to Martha Stewart's Sassy Little Sister." She swallowed. "I'm not gonna be like this in the next place. You get that, right?"

_Not like this? Trusting him, talking to him, showing- showing something like kindness or care for herself, for me, for us as a team?_ Wesley nodded slowly, not really understanding at all.

"I gotta try again." The words were so heavy, but she said them with all her usual brashness. They both knew she meant attempting to slay and fight once more. "I had a Watcher before, you know?" She said abruptly. Wesley nodded more quickly this time. "I'm not good at keeping people safe. I'm - I'm not good at not letting people get hurt. I had another Watcher. I'm not good at keeping Watchers in one piece."

"I'm not good at keeping Slayers in any better condition." He replied neatly. "That was then. This is now. New."

"Well, new me in some new place isn't going to be acting like this." _I can't get soft. I can't pretend to be this sharing, caring, sappy girl who cooks and makes chit chat over coffee._ "I'm not going to be _happy,_ like this."

"Then I'll find you another sort of happy. Wherever we go. Happy doesn't have to end when we leave here." Wesley declared, speaking fervently. "Sometimes happy doesn't involve anything except being with another person, regardless of the place or the role."

Silence found them again, just for a few minutes.

"You happy, Wes?"

"Yes."

Simply, firmly, quietly happy. The boy with the dictionary jammed in his mouth, just waiting to spew out his wordy speeches summed up everything he felt in one word. Faith felt her body leaning towards his before she was even aware of it.

Wesley swallowed. She had such gloriously thick, soft hair, and it was resting on his shoulder, along with her pale, perfect face.

"You must really mean that." Faith kept her eyes pointed at the stars.

So did he. "Yes. I do."

* * *

Mrs. Baker found them like that the next morning. Leaning together, silently watching the sunrise, shoulder to shoulder. She found them like that on the last morning, too, only this time dressed and ready to go on their way, their car loaded with boxes and bags, their keys resting on Mr. Pryce's knee.

"I hope you enjoyed your stay." Mrs. Baker said sincerely, climbing the black iron steps to reach them.

The two pulled apart reluctantly, unsmiling, rising to meet her.

"We did." Wesley pressed the keys into her hand. "Thank you for everything. We were ...very happy here."

Faith allowed herself to be hugged by the shorter, older woman, though she was like a cardboard cutout in her embrace.

"You two come through this way again, you make sure to let me know, and I'll save you a room."

"Yeah. That'd be great." Faith pulled back. "I hope we find this place again."

_To be continued..._


	13. Chapter 13

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's First Note: Thank you all so much for the kindness and support for my little character study piece. Things have picked up, but it's still a slow progression. I appreciate the patience. Things aren't as sweet and fuzzy as the last chapter, but that's normal for two uncertain people getting to know each other as opposed to knowing their titles and their preconceptions._

_Author's Second Note: For anyone getting impatient for more of _Unknown_- don't be. Hopefully there will be an update this week, I just have to juggle what the muse gives me._

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper, Cavemenftw, Sirius120, Jewel74, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, Kathryn Merlin, AGriffinWriter, Mike13z50, Kerry220, Jinxgirl, and Alkeni._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XIII**

_Readiness_

"What about Cleveland?"

"Cleveland?" Wesley sounded shocked.

Faith nodded. "Yeah, you're right. We've only been driving for a few hours. I feel like we should be farther away, y'know? Confuse the imaginary stalkers?" _I hope they're imaginary..._

"I think we can stop where we like, provided we both feel like it's a reasonable place. Which Cleveland is not. It's currently an inactive Hellmouth. With our luck, all we'd need to do is set foot in the city to reawaken it." Wesley grimaced.

"Yeah, that's one thing I'm not up for jinxing." Faith winced.

* * *

"What about Pittsburgh?" Wesley appreciatively looked at the skyline, tall spires sparkling in the mid-day sun.

"I wanna drive. I didn't get to drive yet. And it's not anywhere near dark. I say we drive 'til it's almost dark."

"You just want to subject me to your driving while I'm awake this time." Wesley teased. Then looked serious. "I did think you wanted to avoid the coast proper. The north Atlantic region in particular." _Stay away from Boston. I can't blame you. I don't even miss London right now. Let the dead bury their dead._

"You're right about that." Faith said grimly. "We'll stop in Pennsylvania someplace. Philadelphia's around here somewhere, right?"

* * *

"Pennsylvania looks much smaller on the map." Wesley muttered irritably as two hours passed and Philadelphia hadn't yet appeared.

"Don't whine, Wes. Philadelphia has historical stuff you'll like. Like... the Liberty Bell. And- old buildings."

"I don't doubt they have old buildings, but I don't think we're going to be camping out in the historically significant sections."

He was right. When they reached the city in the early evening, Wesley was grateful for the late sunsets, needing some light to try and help him figure out where in the world they were. "Dear Lord. Let me drive. Find a place to pull off."

"Why? Fuck you, rims!" Faith shouted belligerently and flipped off a sports car that just whipped past them doing ninety as they slowed slightly, trying to figure out which way to turn.

"You're going to get us killed. I don't even know where we're going."

"Then you driving isn't really going to help."

* * *

The next hour seemed to be a series of screams and exclamations, on both sides.

"You're going towards the Airport! Left! Left!"

"That's a different part of the airport! Why do both exits take you to the airport?"

"Shut up and let me drive!"

* * *

"New Jersey! Are we planning to go to New Jersey?"

"Not like I can make a U-turn on the bridge we have to - Wes, give me some money, we're gonna have to pay a toll."

"There's money in the cup holder- dear Lord..." Wesley juggled his atlas and his wallet, and kept a nervous eye on her.

"Is there something in the map that's going to help?" Faith snapped. "If not, put it down, you're blocking my mirror!"

"We're going to end up in the bloody river! You're never driving again!"

"Who's gonna stop me, you?"

* * *

"That was a gunshot!" Wesley spun in his seat so fast he nearly asphyxiated himself with the seatbelt. "Turn around! Turn around!"

"Shit, man, there's cops." Sirens sounded and Faith's adrenaline went into overdrive, a hunted look crossing her face. "Not that they'd be interested in us, right? We didn't shoot anyone." Her fingers drummed on the wheel as she tried to steer them out of this maze of one ways and back alleys.

Wesley tensed and tried to cover the sudden surge of panic he felt with some caustic comments of his own. "Not unless they saw the way you're driving. I hope you decide you look good in orange after all." He saw her ashen face, mirror pallor of his own, and he tapped her elbow, forcing a tight sarcastic grin. "Let's leave before they pull us over for reckless endangerment with a vehicle, shall we?"

Both of them stayed in anxious silence until Faith maneuvered them far enough away that they could no longer hear the sirens or see the red and blue swirling lights.

* * *

Faith put her head back on the seat, stuck in yet another sea of traffic as police moved cars around a three car accident.

Wesley, a shade of mauve and practically apoplectic, took off his glasses and did several deep, controlled breaths. "Let's just pick a section of the city that's near the university. There's bound to be affordable, short term housing, and as fall comes into a large metropolis, with the influx of students and long dark nights, so will the vampires."

"I'm all for that." Faith agreed tiredly.

"I think that- oh. Are you? Splendid."

"Yep." Faith pointed over their heads to a multicolored sign, covered in color-coordinating arrows. "Pick a school, you've got a lot of options."

Wesley looked where she directed his gaze. A list of colleges and universities descended down one side of a traffic light. Across the other side was a list of attractions and museums. "Oh dear."

"Just pick one!" Faith revved the car impatiently, despite the fact they were doomed to a standstill for several more minutes.

"I- I don't know anything about these areas, or the universities. Did you ever-"

Faith made an irritable scoffing noise.

"No, I suppose not. Dear. I suppose I need to know where a library is..." He rubbed his brow tiredly. "Should we get a hotel for the night? Do some research in the morning? Consult with a local tourist board or-" Her glare silenced him. "Slayers don't do that, do they?"

"Maybe they do. _I_ don't."

He sat back, atlas closed. "Show me what you do, then."

* * *

She picked the college farthest from where they were now, 'cause this area was decent, aside from the traffic and no one knowing how to merge. Vamps wouldn't gravitate to places like that until they'd exhausted the danker, darker places, and she didn't want to start off with a hunt. She wanted to start off dusting vamps in a barrel. Clean, easy, no confusion. Knowing she had to kill or be killed, knowing her target wasn't human. Knowing, in black and white, she was saving humans, killing demons. _Slaying. Not murdering._

"Oh yeah. This is getting good..." She gave an appreciative look around the area.

Wesley swallowed. _This is getting bad. Graffiti becoming more frequent, housing becoming more unkempt, and a college as an oasis, surrounded by train stations and bus stops._ He could understand that. Students and professors probably chose to come to this haven in the midst of rundown concrete and then escape back to cleaner, safer areas as soon as possible.

"You can take the bus to the library." Faith regarded the bus stops as convenient. Wesley regarded them as clear proof that escapes routes were needed.

"Yes, but I'd rather not have to worry about coming out to find the car minus hubcaps. Or minus car." Wesley looked anxiously around, spotting a tireless car on blocks.

Faith's hands tightened on the wheel._ Never had a car. Never had anything they could steal. I was the thief. Society owed, I collected. _

_ Never cared as long as I was okay. _

_ 'Cause I never had anything worth caring abou_t.

"Let's check the other side of the loop." Faith mumbled and hoped for a slightly better, slightly safer neighborhood.

* * *

"We have a problem." Wesley returned from the third housing complex they'd tried on the other side of the college community, still decidedly "questionable", but not outwardly dangerous.

Faith stopped stretching her spine, and regarded him over the roof of the car. "So things are back to normal?" My _normal. The bad normal._

"They don't do month to month here. Also, it's nearing ten. I know you don't want to, but if we don't find a furnished place in the next half hour, we're going to have to take a hotel."

"So how many months do they do?" Faith put her hands on her hips.

"Six months. They_ will_ do three, but only with first and last already paid."

Faith looked around. "Get back in the car."

"Are we driving on?" He was moderately relieved at the idea.

"Just do it." Faith hissed. Wesley slid back in, and Faith gave him an intense look. "You have guts under those button downs, and I know that."

"Ah- thank you." Wesley was both pleased and surprised.

"And I know you have this thing about being some good honest man you can respect, but I don't do three months or six months in one place. _I just don't_."

"I'm not asking you to. We can find another place." He soothed.

"This is the right area. I can tell." She could. She felt all the heightened senses of Slayer awareness coming back with this unfamiliar yet familiar place. The darkness and the close buildings making big shadows, the hurry of uneasy people, the way the sidewalks scuffed grittily under her boots, and there was a certain scent in the air. _This is my killing field. A dozen different cities, but they all have the same feel. Kinda missed it... _"This is the part you don't like, but I know what I'm doing. This is the part where you-" she licked her lips and forced the words out, "this is the part where you trust me, okay?" Trust. The word left such a weird, almost bad, taste in her mouth. Something to be broken, something she lied about, or others lied about to her._ But not this one._

"Of course." Wesley nodded emphatically, unhesitatingly.

"We take the three month. But we leave after one."

"But we- I do trust you." He assured her quickly, hand lightly brushing her arm, a gesture that solidified his words. "But things are more expensive in this city than in the other two. Paying two months' rent for one month's stay leaves us at a severe disadvantage. I don't even know that I can make it up through the work I do, especially if I- if we do patrol." _Aside from the sheer illegality. Of course, I'm technically a kidnapper... Oh dear. I'm not a kidnapper, I'm a Watcher. I break rules if it helps her. _It still left an odd, uncomfortable sensation in his stomach.

"We're only paying for _one_ month. And don't worry about your name or your credit." She fished her wallet and ID out. "This is all me. Well, after you give me the money, I mean."

"How are you going to-"

"Trust me. And give me my purse." Faith took it after he dug it out from the backseat. She pulled down the visor and applied her dark red lipstick, topping it with a glossy sheen. No brush handy. She used her fingers, fluffed it up, set it sassily on her shoulders, and tugged her shirt down so that the amount of cleavage exposed was tripled.

_Oh heavens. What exactly is she going to do? I don't want her to "pay" like that_. "Um. Faith, I-"

"My 'virtue' will be fine, Wes." Faith tossed on a little mascara and fluttered her lashes. "But you probably should stay in the car."

* * *

"Hey... two room, furnished. Three months." Faith slid the money to the man at the desk. Well, at least to his back. He was absorbed in a small fan and a small television showing a grainy baseball game. "Hey. You rent or not?"

The chair spun, and slightly bloodshot eyes in a sweating middle-aged face looked at the stack of money on the desk. He looked at it, then at her. "Yeah. I rent, Honey."

_Oh, this is going to work out so nicely._ Faith leaned, chest on the desk. "That's good. Baby."

He took the money and counted, then frowned. "You got half here."

"I got the rest later." She shrugged easily. This pattern had been played so many, many times for her, she could almost act this out as a solo.

"I heard that before." He turned back to the set, and reached under the counter to a mini fridge/freezer, pulling out a popsicle and a soda to fend off the oppressive August humidity. "When you get to 'later', come back and see me."

Faith slid easily and soundlessly over the desk._ Thank you, Wes, you god of a personal trainer, you._ "I wasn't done. I pay half now, and I'll pay the rest in thirty days. But if you let me do it like that, you get a _bonus._ A big one." Her hands slid down the sides of his chair.

"Look, Honey, people try this all the time, they don't get anywhere."

Faith sized him up. "I'm not ordinary people." Faith used the props provided.

The man's eyes bulged. The girl bent, opened her mouth- and his popsicle disappeared. All of it. To the stick. And when she sat back up, she swallowed without even a cough, and licked traces of chocolate from wet ruby lips.

"That's what you get on day thirty, _with_ the next month's rent. Deal?"

He damn near fell from his chair in his haste to give her the rental contract.

"Be right back." Faith sauntered out, taking a pen from his quivering hand.

* * *

Faith staggered into the car, shoving the paper at Wes. "Fill this out and deal with the jerk at the desk when you're done. I got us in."

"What happened to you?" Wesley caught her as she slumped down in the seat, hands clutched to her forehead.

"I have the worst ice cream headache. _Ever._" She groaned.

* * *

"Did you forget to ask, or did he conveniently 'neglect' to tell you that this place doesn't believe in providing sheets, towels, pillows, or dishes?" Faith asked once the last box was in and they stopped to catch their breath.

"Both." Wesley looked crestfallen. "Dammit. I doubt anything close is open."

"Well, speaking of things we've forgotten- we don't actually have this place for a full month. We leave on day twenty nine. Middle of the night, sneaking out, no questions asked, got it?"

"Why are -"

"No questions asked means don't start going 'Why' at me!" Faith reminded him sharply.

He nodded. "Twenty nine days is fine. In fact- perhaps overdoing it." Wesley wasn't terribly impressed with the place. "It's fairly oppressive in here." He noticed, now that they'd stopped and were standing still in the apartment.

"It's hot as hell in here." Faith gasped out a correction and headed to the AC unit built in under the window. She flipped it on. It coughed out dust and died with a wheeze. "Piece of shit..." She kicked the useless machine.

He sighed. "Philadelphia in August. If I recall my history correctly, heat in this city is enough to spark some upstart colonists into a revolution." Wesley's shirt clung to his back and sweat clouded his glasses. He wiped his face on a handkerchief, now tucked into rumpled khakis instead of ironed crisply in a breast pocket.

"If this place doesn't have running water, I'm going to go get a refund and barf a popsicle back up on somebody..." Faith marched to the sink in the kitchen. A roach skittered away as she turned on the lights. But water flowed out, hot and cold, and aside from the single insect, the place seemed clean. Not bright and homey, but clean and spartan.

"I'm suddenly very homesick for Mrs. Baker and her abundance of floral patterns." Wesley confessed with a sigh.

"This is still nicer than the apartment my mom and I had." Faith shrugged. "And the place I had in Sunnydale. And Lincoln. Hey, did you see there's an exercise room on the first floor?"

"The very large television room with a few weights and treadmills? Yes, I saw it." He fretted and paced. "This isn't a proper place to train."

"That's good. I think I'm done 'training'. Time to start slaying."

"After we settle in." Wesley insisted. "And -there is a weight bench, which you haven't had access to before. We should check your strength now that your stability, flexibility, and speed are fairly normal."

Faith groaned. _He doesn't think I'm ready. He's probably right. _"Couldn't I just pick up this fridge or something?"

"Heavens no. I'm afraid to find out what's lurking behind it." Wesley muttered, unpacking their few leftover cans and staples, cautiously opening the cupboard. "How sweet. The last tenants have left us a can of Raid and ant traps."

"Too bad they didn't leave sheets." Faith pushed her hair up. "I'm wiped."

"I suppose we could find one of those all night giant shopping centers. That'd probably mean driving out to the suburbs, and I'm not sure I can find my way back here." _Which might not be such a bad thing, except we've just unloaded the car. And several hundred dollars in cash. Dash it all._

"Or..." Faith moved into the living room and peered at the couch with a speculative eye before bending down and yanking the edge forward. With a creak of springs, the blue-gray sofa unfolded, "We could sleep out here. It doesn't have sheets, but it's padded and covered in- whatever the hell this fabric is. We open the windows and we won't sweat to death."

"Yes. Yes, that'll do." Wesley started lugging boxes down the narrow hall. "They're across this time. The rooms, I mean. You want left or right?"

"Left side has the window?"

"Yes."

"You take it, you get up earlier, need the light." Faith dragged the two of the back cushions down onto the folded out couch. "That's not really the right height for a pillow. Unless you're center for the Lakers." _God, I'm getting so soft. No matter what he says, I know I am. _

"What?" Wesley called, out of the room.

"Nothing. We can fold up some shirts or something." She mumbled to herself, hastily replacing the cushions.

"Would you bring my box of clothes in, please?"

"Maybe we could get a couple suitcases while we're buying sheets and stuff. These boxes are starting to wear out on the bottom." Faith hauled a box in for him.

"They have gone almost the entire length of the country." Wesley laughed. "There's a dresser in here. I suppose I can use the top of it for a bookshelf. If I triple stack the volumes."

"The table gets to be the desk again?"

"I suppose."

"Too bad they don't make portable desks for the portable computer, huh, Wes?"

"It's not much of a worry, really." He smiled cheerfully. Better than Lincoln, worse than St. Elizabeth. _I wonder who are we this time? I sincerely hope we get to just be ourselves at some point, and then we're always the same, no matter the place._

_ I imagine that'll take quite awhile, seeing as neither of us know exactly who we're supposed to be. Months at least, one doesn't discover oneself in a day's time._

_ Good Lord. Three months. This'll be the start of three months together! Such a "together" as this is._

_ I didn't think either of us would survive this long._

"Are we going to unpack or are we going to sleep?" She was taking out his clothes as he was lovingly stacking his books, a look of faraway contemplation on his face.

"Hm?"

"It's - man, I don't know what time it is, it's late. It's probably almost midnight." She made a sudden shake of her head with a disapproving noise. "That used to be when I started to really get going..."

"You've done a lot since then." Wesley reminded her gently. "You'll be back to your night owl self soon."

"But not tonight. So, sleep or unpack?"

"You said you were tired." He reminded her, putting a book down, turning to her.

"I am. You look tired, too."

"Well. Driving with you certainly is the equivalent of a high impact workout."

"There you go." Faith tossed her hair. "You're tired."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am." He nodded. She left the room, nodding as well.

He saw her go and get one of the boxes they'd packed her clothes in, back to her room, to the little bathroom, then back out, wearing- Wesley gulped and went to quickly shut his door.

"Oh, come on! It's like ninety five in here and the sofa is all scratchy." Faith caught the door with her hand, fanning herself in a pair of briefs and torn teeshirt that was rolled to mid-ribcage.

"No, you're quite right. You must be comfortable when you sleep, and sleeping in that room without a window... no, you're quite right."

"You said that. Are you coming or not?" Faith went out to the sofa, a roll of her softer shirts made into a pillow, and bedded down on one side.

"Am I-" Wesley popped his head out. She'd turned out the lights, but he could see her form. Legs bent. Torso. One hand fanning, one hand rearranging damp hair off her neck. "I'll be fine in here."

Faith nodded. What was she trying to do anyway? Tempt him? _I wouldn't mess with his head like that. Not anymore. I don't do that shit to him, because he doesn't do that shit to me. I was just trying to be nice. _

_ I guess he doesn't see it as nice. Why should he? This isn't Happy-ville, and I'm not Mary Sunshine._

* * *

His room was like an oven. Shirtless and sweating, he felt like his light cotton boxers were made of thermal double knit. _She wasn't giving any sort of invitation, except the most friendly, overtly kind and thoughtful gesture. And I turn it down. _

_ Don't I trust myself?_

_ I would die before I hurt her. She's been hurt by so many, until all that pain comes swarming out. Pain I caused. Pain I'm trying to erase._

He turned, but there was no relief in a new position.

_ Don't I trust her?_

_ I don't believe she'd deliberately hurt me. Not anymore._

* * *

Her eyes popped open, an instant ball of tension in her chest, old memories controlling her body and its reactions. "Back up or I'll _beat _you up." She growled, seeing a man in the darkness beside her bed.

"I was only getting a some water!" Wesley gasped, hastily retreating a few steps, nearly dropping his teacup.

"Wes?" Faith squinted, trying to wake up.

"Yes!"

"Sorry. Bad dream." She lied.

He kept the sympathy out of his voice with an effort. "I understand. Are you all right?" He had considered asking if her offer still stood, but her outburst quashed that idea.

"Five by-" _Fuck. Can't lie right now. Too sweaty and hot and this couch feels like it was stuffed with cactus._ "Can I have a sip?"

Wesley hesitated. There's something strangely intimate about sharing the same cup, at least when you've been bred in a sterile, impersonal environment. "Here." The water sloshed on the outside of the delicate china, mixed with the slipperiness of their fingers as they brushed. He watched her drinking, more a silhouette than solid figure in the dark. _I've carried her half-conscious body. I've dressed her. I've undressed her, laid her in a tub, and helped her off the floor. I've even brushed her hair. _

_ That was because she was weak and damaged. That was nursing. This is- different. _

"Your room as hot as this?" Faith handed him back the half-empty cup.

"A little hotter." He wondered just how good Slayer eyesight in the darkness was.

_Pretty good. Pretty surprising._ Faith looked at the figure in front of her, shirt off, shorts clinging, but not too much. "You look like it."

Wesley self-consciously stepped back and ran a hand across his chest. "I'm not used to the heat. Well- California- the flat was air conditioned, the school was air conditioned. Everything was, really."

"You were never out of those suits..."

"You were- hrm. You were asleep by the time I took them off." He smiled.

"Then you woke me up. Just in time." She smiled back.

Not knowing what else to say, he fumbled out a, "Goodnight again. Or rather, good very early morning."

"Wes..." _Just be next to me. Like on the fire escape. Isn't that normal? Friends crashing on a couch. Never had it before, but you see it on the sitcoms. _

"Another sip? Would you like me to get you the other cup?"

"No... Wes. I don't bite."

"I know that." He also instantly understood the context. "I- I'm not good at -" He sat heavily. "I suppose this is just another couch. We've sat on several together. Although we'd be reclining instead of sitting."_ Why is this so difficult?_

"Yeah. That's all."

_I told her I'd never lie to her... _"Sometimes I am so envious of all the... closeness, that I see others have. Families, friendships. It comes so easily to some people, and so difficult for me. For us. I don't want to damage whatever we have by- hrm- by-"

"You were afraid you'd end up boning me?" Faith asked bluntly, eyebrows arched in cynical amusement.

"_No! _I was afraid you'd think I wanted that, or I- expected it. Even though I say I don't." _And I _don't. _She is lovely. She is sensual. But we're not in any way romantic. Merely companionable. On a _good_ day. _

"You know what?"

"Hm?"

"You think way too much."

"Oh."

"I think it's okay, though. It's your oversized brain way of saying you care about what happens to me." She rolled over, away from him. "Don't worry. I got it now. I know you're not dragging me halfway across the country, living in slums, and eating brick o'beef because you're 'hot' for me." She laughed at herself. "Got a crazy big brain in there. Not stupid enough to get_ more_ mixed up with someone like me."

He rolled over as well, back to back, two feet between them, each hugging an edge. "I don't think stupidity has anything to do with it. Some people are merely- unlucky."

She smiled. _So would that mean having me equals being lucky? Even when he wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole, he's damn sweet about how he puts it._ "Chivalry crap?"

"Yes, but _honest _chivalric crap." He laughed silently, shoulders rising once.

"Mm." She sat up silently, looked over at him, knowing that he wasn't able to tell she'd changed positions and was now watching him falling asleep. "You know that thing you wanted?"

"The weapons case for the car? I'm sorry we didn't have much luck in the last town. I'm sure someone around here will be able to help." Now cooler and relaxed, sleep was marching on him swiftly.

"Not that. The other thing. From me."

Sleep was held at bay for a moment. Wide eyes stared at the scratchy fabric of the couch. "Yes?" _Your respect. That was all I have ever explicitly asked for from her. _

"You have it." She shifted, lying back down with a tight throat as she realized it was true. "That's a cherry you get to pop, Wes. No one else ever had it. No one else has it." She felt panic gnawing at her, showing so much, being so truthful. Worse than baring your body. Her voice was raspy and warning, "Lose it- and-"

"You just said I'm not stupid." He reminded her quickly, a slight edge in his tone. It quickly softened. "Only an idiot throws away the single most precious thing he's worked for." He kept facing away from her, so he didn't hug her, or even do the unthinkable and burst into manly tears or something equally mortifying. "Thank you, Faith."

"Yeah, well... consider it an early- or late birthday gift, 'cause I'm not a big shopper."

"I'll treasure it."

Both now wide awake, desperate to sleep, she asked- "How'd you learn to talk like that? Y'know- honest and open and smart sounding? But not so much of an ass now. Sorta showing that British guys got heart."

Wesley shook his head. "A combination of exposure to pompous, articulate people, an excellent education- and desperation."

"And the boy's still honest. Nice."

A hand touched his back, and he could tell by the angle that she had her palm outwards, hand facing him as her body faced away. _A high five. All she dares show, but she shows so much in it._ He mirrored her, arm hitching up his side, hand turning to meet hers, until palms connected. "Very nice indeed."

* * *

The next day Faith spoke to the super, Wesley found the library, a cash machine, and a pay phone to put more minutes on his mobile. When they reconvened in a few hours, the AC was working wheezily, and Wesley was on a mission.

"We'll buy our own things. It'll be better that way. We'll have a wider range of places to stay in. We won't have to rely on taking what limited options furnished flats have to offer."

"Man is motivated? Why?"

"Because I desperately want to shower and without towels-"

"I just ran around nude in front of the air conditioner."

Wesley blinked. "Well- you were the only one here! I can't do that now."

"I'm just teasing. Let's go get your towels before you bust your prim nerve."

"I am not prim!" He said priggishly.

"Not convincing."

* * *

"You have no sales resistance. At. All." Faith grumbled.

"You're no better." Wesley snapped.

"I'm not the one who got talked into 'as seen on television' insulted fleeces in _August_."

"Firstly, it's _insulated_. Secondly, it's nearly September, which means autumn is coming, followed by winter."

"And then what happens, Professor?" Faith snarked, disliking the patronizing hint in his voice.

"Then we move on, to who knows where. Suppose we're stuck someplace without heat? Hm? Did you think of that?"

"Nope. I usually headed South when it got nippy. Perks of being free and pretty." She smiled.

Wesley hadn't figured that. "You're no better. I don't even think there's room for a case of beer in that refrigerator."

"Not now that you bought all that corn and cantaloupe!"

"Those were grown locally and they're very good for you. Now- will you please help me carry in the dishes?"

She shook her head but did what he requested, muttering, "We own _dishes_. Renegade ex-Slayers and Watchers should not stop at the thrift shops to go china hunting!"

"It's not china, it's durable melamine, and I only bought a few pieces, the essentials. And it was a steal for only five dollars."

"Oh my God, Dude. Stop talking. Now. Just stop."

He took a hiatus, but didn't completely stop. "You had all these things before, Faith."

"I had clothes and towels. No- _a_ towel. I didn't have dinnerware and bedding and - and a frickin' portable _house_. It's not like it's mine anyway, it's yours."

"No, it's ours!"

Wrong moment. Wrong thing to say.

Our home? Permanent. Scary, stifling, confining. Something clawed at her to run, but she didn't. She put all the fear into a heated, growling whisper. "I said to shut up, and you don't listen. Go- go do your typing. I'll put stuff away."

"Faith-"

The whisper rose to a hoarse shout. "Wes! I'm a screw up, but I can figure out where the goddamn cans go, okay?"

This time the dangerous anger in her voice was unmistakable. "I'll be home shortly."

"Whatever."

He hated leaving with anger between them. But there was probably bound to be a lot of that between them at various points in their lives.

* * *

"Hi."

"Are you alright?" Wesley looked at his watch. Good Lord. He'd been gone for four hours. "I'm so sorry, I started a new translation and I-"

"Does the library have cookbooks?" Faith had to have an excuse to call. Wondering where he was or acting like she noticed he'd been gone a lot longer than "shortly" made her look too weak.

"I'm sure it does, but I don't have a card to check anything out."

"Oh. See ya. I was just- the cable sucks. See ya." _Not like I care about the books._

_ You did, you know. You liked it, just a little bit_, a sly inner voice reminded her. _You liked making something "normal", you liked doing something for him, since all the other stuff he wants, your respect and your trust, that's all so damn hard to let him have. And he won't take the other thing you typically toss around._

Shut up, Faith snarled at the annoyingly honest bitch in her brain. _I just wanted to make sure he hadn't gotten himself killed._

* * *

_ Friends of the Library Association._

Wesley stopped dead at the entrance, looking at the bookshelf under the blue and white plaque.

"Whoa! Whoa, Tanner, watch out!"

"I'm terribly sorry." Wesley apologized to the mother, and the toddler who'd smacked into the back of his legs when he'd come to an abrupt halt. He moved from the doorway and read the sign. "Hardbacks one dollar, paperback fifty cents, and children's books twenty five cents." His hand started searching through his pockets.

* * *

"I thought you couldn't check anything out!" Faith opened the door to a stack of books thrust into her arms.

"I can't. I bought these. And don't start in on me about the cost or my shopping habits, I spent three dollars for all four books. Only two of them are cookbooks. I thought you might like the mysteries."

"Not a big reader." She hugged the books to her chest tighter than she should have.

"Well, if the cable 'sucks' enough, you might become one."

* * *

"Where do we put all this crap in three and half weeks?" Faith asked the next morning as he packed his laptop and materials for the day. The apartment- kind of looked like theirs. Their dishes. Their bedding, crisp white and blue for him, a dusky purple for her. Burgundy colored towels, a set for two.

"I've been thinking about that."

"The practical side comes out. Cool." Then her face took on a suspicious look. "I'm walking if you say the words 'RV'."

_As if I'd trust either of us with anything so large in a city... Or even in an uninhabited field, actually. _"We each have a duffle bag and a proper suitcase now, that holds the clothes, and replaces a box. We put those few books in with mine, that doesn't change anything. The weapons we take out half, put in the car. I've made a few sketches, a flat case, rather like a toolbox, with collapsible shelving. A case that we can push into the trunk space, and reach by pulling down the center armrest in the backseat as well."

Impressive. But she still didn't like it. "You have all -"

"-my books in the house, I know, but we could be attacked in the car as easily at home, while I'm not terribly likely to be looking up ancient lore while navigating this horror they call I-95."

"And the dishes?"

"Wrapped in newspaper, or the towels, and put in with the kettle and my tea things. We could even dispense with the box and buy one of those plastic storage crates if you'd like."

_He - he's gonna make things seem like home. Make everyplace seem like home. Dammit. Like a _real _home! I think. I don't know. I don't think I ever had that, so how can I tell? _She sighed internally. _I won't be leaving it, running from it each time, 'cause he'll just drag it all with us. I can't get away._

Claustrophobia threatened to collapse her psyche and her chest, and then she saw him absently patting the two cookbooks on the center of the table, alongside some crusty old leather book of his.

_Strange little gesture. Means nothing little gesture. Comforting little gesture._

_This is still better. It's the best._

"Just promise me you won't buy a cat or something we have to take care of, okay?" She finally spat.

"You have my word."

* * *

"You'll be seeking out some slightly less than above board place to pick up shifts, yes?" Wesley ran on one treadmill, she ran on the other. She was proud of how many miles per hour she was passing him by at this point.

"You can put it like that." Faith snickered.

"Perhaps you could listen for anyone mentioning suspicious deaths and disappearances? Or any suspicious activity in general?"

"Well, I'm not going to be listening for hairstyling tips and bowling scores." Faith's snickering grin disappeared. _I said I wanted to do this. Didn't I? This is a huge city, with dozens of missing people. Something evil would just love to camp out here... I used to jump at the chance to slice and dice, get a little dust on my hands..._

"I mean, _only_ listen. For now. I don't want you to rush off into anything."

"Watching might be some cautious thing. Slaying isn't. You don't charge in- you're dinner."

"We'll test your strength." Wesley said in a monotone, all the light leaving his eyes as he gently stopped the machine.

* * *

The super slash building manager was surprised when the television was on in the workout room, in the middle of the morning. Not just a fluke, had happened several days in a row. He took a closer look. This building wasn't some shangri-la, with rich white folk working on their bikini bodies before going off to winter in Florida. College students, old ladies who didn't move when the neighborhood changed, people who worked in the district until they could afford to get into a better section of the city.

This girl, the one with the unorthodox bargaining skills- she was different. Couldn't place her, or her old man. He was too high class, she was too - hm. Maybe a pimp and his best piece. Girl certainly had some unusual talents...

_And she really ought to show them to me again. Make sure it's worth gambling with two months' rent_. 'Cause he was really, really enjoying watching her run.

* * *

Faith moved off the treadmill and swung her leg over the weight bench gracefully. She picked up a twenty pound weight in each hand and pumped easily, left, right, together in, together out, back, swing in the front, stretch it out, repeat.

* * *

He paused. Watching her in this new activity was even better. Forget the bouncing when she ran, when she was stretching and flexing, her whole body moved. Girl _must _be in the "industry", 'cause every single move screamed sex.

* * *

_Didn't have to use my whole body before_. Faith grunted, using not just her arm, but her entire side and back to get the leverage she needed. _Stupid coma. Stupid atrophy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But- _she smiled and kept fifty pounds swinging in her right hand-_ I'm going to keep it up. I'm gonna be so buff, in a sexy badass way, when this is done._

* * *

Fifty in each hand? Damn. Girl probably has had her share of rough customers. Maybe - holy shit, look at her... The brunette stopped with the hand weights and switched to the bar, loading each side with a twenty five pound and fifty pound disc. Lying down, she easily pulled the bar off and started doing presses. Which was, from the voyeuristic perspective, incredibly hot to watch her on her back, puffing away. It was also completely confusing. Girl must be lifting more than she weighed now...

Lecherousness was about to overcome puzzlement when her phone rang. He jumped, and so did she. She barely hooked the bar back into its slots before throwing her leg over, sitting up, and going to the treadmill to retrieve her cell from the machine's cup holder.

* * *

Faith answered with a cheerful, if slightly breathless, "What's up?"

Her observer could only hear one end of the conversation, but that wasn't what kept him intrigued. It was what she did as she spoke. "You psychic, Wes? Yes, I'm working out." She crossed back to the bench but didn't sit on it, stood over it. "Not that I do a lot else, so maybe psychic was overkill...Dude, you're so paranoid. I can do fifty in my sleep. Yes, I can... Yes, I _can_!" Proving someone wrong always gave her an extra edge. Been told she wasn't good enough for so long, always made her angry, just seemed to give her a little shot of rage, or in this case, determination. She seized the bar with one hand, in the middle. "Look, if I wait for you to get home, I- one hundred is _not_ too much."

* * *

His jaw dropped to his beer gut. She used the whole fricking bar, with one hundred fifty pounds on it, like a dumbbell, lifting it with a single hand, as she continued to talk on the phone. Then, as her conversation got intense, she suddenly heaved a sigh and tossed it over one shoulder and held it there, as easily if she were carrying a scarf against her neck instead of a human's weight in metal.

* * *

"Two hundred is- okay, okay, I'll stop at one hundred. Geez, Nancy. Wait, do you mean one hundred per side or one hundred total? Oh, duh, yeah, that would be two hundred." Faith shifted her slightly sore shoulder. "Wes! Stop, you're going to drown your phone in spit, hissing at me like that. I'll be a good little girl and not bench press anything over one hundred until you get home. Yeah, yeah, never weight train without a spotter. Hey, are you doing any shopping tonight? No, I know we do, but you didn't tell me what you wanted..."

* * *

He backed away. He wouldn't be pushing for his "bonus" anytime soon.

* * *

In a matter of days Faith was lifting the bar, loaded with three hundred pounds. Wesley stood over her, calling the count of her reps, and looking fairly worried. Faith didn't help.

"Question?" She smiled up at him, barely breaking a sweat.

"Yes?" Wesley panted, then composed himself as she laughed. He swore he was more out of breath watching and worrying about her than she was, and she was the one doing the heavy lifting.

"Isn't the point of a spotter being that the guy can save you when you drop this thing on your throat and crush your windpipe?" She tossed it from her palms slightly and he gasped and clutched at the air.

"Yes, that is the point." He contemplated, checking his pulse as she easily snagged the bar and laughed at his discomfiture.

"So why are you making a big deal about me having one? Not like you can lift more than a hundred pounds. Okay, maybe one thirty."

Good point. "That's not the point."

"You just said it was."

"Maybe I'm not as strong as you, but I would- think fast."

"Call 911?"

He thought fast now, as he'd actually never worked through the scenario before, only thinking he must be there. "No, I would remove all the weights on one side, then push the bar up, off your throat, and let gravity and the weights remaining on the other side pull it off you. _Then_ I'd call 911."

"Hm. You are fast. With the brain parts anyway."

"I would be there to help if you should need it. That's all I care about."

_Helping me is all he cares about. Feels like a charity case. But feels pretty awesome the way he says it. Like it's not charity, it's what he _wants_ to do._

She kept lifting, watching him, his mouth still calling out counts, punctuated with praises, eyes intent, never leaving her.

She had tunnel vision. Sound left. Just watching his face, not hearing the words anymore, just watching. Sizing someone up with her returning hunter instincts.

_ He just wants to help me. He believes it's the right thing, so he does it. I'm someone's 'right thing'? That's a first. Man. Head trip._

She was distracted, staring up at him while he had that sweetly serious expression on his face. She thought they called it earnest, and she'd never seen anyone pull off that look.

She hadn't been distracted in a long time. You have to feel threatened by something, or you have to care about something, to let it distract you when you're in that zone.

He saw the wrists collapsing back as she felt them go, those brown eyes suddenly wide and in sharp focus.

Wesley jerked the bar back as it wavered, lifting it just a few inches into the rest, catching it as it dropped, helped by her hands trying to regain the grip they'd just lost.

"Faith!" A gasp of delayed panic.

_Whoa._ Realizing what she'd nearly done, she was grateful to him. Angry at herself. Which became furious at him. "You messed me up! I was fine without you! Never had some guy standing over me before, never slipped!" _Never trained, was naturally strong, well- freaky strong._

"I know, I know it's my fault, I'm sorry." He was sure she wouldn't have thought of failure and falling, had he not just been discussing it. _And once an idea is in your mind, you focus on it, sometimes with near disastrous results. You bring your sniveling little fears down on everything you touch._

Faith slipped off the bench with a growl, pacing angrily. "Dammit. I can do this myself!"

"I know!" He placated in the same explosive tone. More softly, "I do know."

_But I just had a huge screw up- and it only took a fucking second. Because I was looking up at him like I've never seen a human being before._

_ Maybe I just forgot how it feels to actually like another human being, to like what you see. _

"It was only a small mistake. You would have caught it yourself, I- I..." _I did the right thing, the wrong way. If I do something wrong I manage to do it properly, by the book. God, I'm hopeless._

_He looks lost. We gotta stop doing this shit._ _I wonder if there's enough cray glue in the world to put head cases like us back together._ She sighed. "Whatevs. No big. You distracted, I distracted, I slipped, you caught, no harm, no foul." She shook it off. "Life is too full of shit to add to it with the messes you make in your heads, right?"

"Oh. Thank goodness." He looked so relieved. Then pained.

Faith studied him over her shoulder, a brief, darting glance. "You seriously just snagged three hundred pounds, Dude." She rewarded him with a crooked smile. "You did a mid air, split second clean and jerk. know, I should take it back. All that stuff about you being a weak ass little pencil pusher."

"Faith..." He sounded acutely distressed.

"Seriously! I'm being nice." Faith admitted, turning fully, fire in her eye. "I'm not good at this, you know? You could help me out a little, since it's kinda what you live for."

"I liked what you said, and yes, I like to help." Wesley smiled in a very strained way. "I also have never attempted to catch 300 pounds before."

Faith's angry look vanished as she realized something was wrong. "Wes?" _He's still standing like that- like I'm on the bench._

"I think I just popped a disc or two." He tried straightening up. It didn't go well.

Faith's eyes widened as she rushed to his side. "I didn't know you could curse like that. Kinda impressed." She slid her shoulder under his.

"I can manage!"

"You remember how stupid I looked trying to walk when my back wasn't up to it?" She grunted and moved with him as he stumbled forward, trying to walk away from her support. "You're supposed to the smart one. Let me help. Baby steps."

"I feel incredibly stupid." Wesley muttered, wincing.

"Join the club." They limped along together. "I'm really sorry." Faith mumbled.

"Not your fault."

"I know, but I'm still sorry. What do we do for your back?"

"Rest, ice, then rest." He stopped, confronted with the stairs. "_Bollocks_."

Faith was too concerned to rib him over his sudden sailor-mouth. "We don't have any ice. No ice cube trays."

"Then simply rest." He grunted and tried to straighten up. "Damn."

"Give it more than five minutes, Wes."

"I'll be fine."

"I know." _He has to be_. "Ice, huh?"

"We can use packs of frozen vegetables I suppose. Except I believe we're out. I was going to pick up the groceries tomorrow after my check goes in..."

"We have something."

* * *

Faith put him on the couch, and then ran to the fridge. "Hang on." Back to the bathroom, back to the couch.

Wesley felt something cool shoved under his shirt. He yelped. "What is-"

Faith situated a towel wrapped bundle on him. "Short term solution. Miller's all kinds of medicine. Be right back."

"Are you going to the store?"

"Nope."

* * *

"Hey, little lady..."

"Hey, old and ugly." Faith didn't have time to mince words with the perv at the front desk.

"Now is that any way to talk to the guy who hooks you up?"

"You hooked me up, and I'm hooking you up, and unless I live in a time warp-" Faith pulled him up by his shirt collar, and went chin to chin, her smile cold and dangerous, "you have about three more weeks to fantasize about exactly what I'm going do to you. And you _don't _want to see what I _can_ do to you if you piss me off." She dropped him back down into his chair, leaving him pop-eyed and pale. "Also- since I caught you making my workout your personal peep show a couple times this week, you can do me a second favor..."

* * *

Wesley gasped when a blanket of cold was abruptly spread across his back. "Oh. Oh... sweet mercy..."

Faith smiled above him. "Where's it the worst?"

"Lower back." He sighed as the cooling sensation moved south. "What am I covered in?"

"Popsicles."

"You didn't rob an ice cream van, did you?" He asked worriedly.

"Not a van."

"Dare I ask?"

"You'd be happier if you didn't."

"Since I'm in agony anyway, do tell." He gave a grim giggle as he tried to get comfortable.

"I've embraced apartment living. I'm learning to borrow from the neighbors."

* * *

Wesley healed quickly, it wasn't as though he was in bad shape. In fact, Wesley realized he was in the best shape of his life, his back just didn't enjoy catching a full set of weights in mid air without warning.

Faith, though she wouldn't admit to it, seemed to be a very thoughtful person. She folded out the couch, kept him on it, dragging his laptop and a stack of "big ass, scary books" in front of his nose so he'd have something to do while she went out and did her own peculiar method of job hunting.

* * *

"You have a glow stick stuck in your hair." Wesley said one evening, now recovered enough to sit and work.

"These clubs are hell on my wardrobe." Faith slapped it free, and pulled off her boots. "I have glow in the dark body paint all over my shoes. That's really not good for fighting vamps." She pulled up one of the scarred wooden chairs and began scrubbing at the soles as she sat across from him.

"You see any?"

"No. Just a ton of drunk, crazy people. Man, I thought California was crazy, but _these_ people..."

"Perhaps the vampires prefer more secluded venues."

"I'm thinking they shy away from the teeny bopper clubs I've been going to. Vamps probably hate getting sprayed with black light gel. They'd be easy to spot." Faith spat on the edge of her shirt, Wesley winced, and she continued polishing, ignoring him. "I need something smaller and sketchier or I'm not going to be able to find any work, tending or slaying."

"Speaking of sketchy, I need to come with you to some of those places."

"I don't need a sitter!"

"No, _I_ need someone who can make my sketches a reality. I can't be the only man in this city who has something questionable he wants to conceal in his trunk."

"I got someone I can ask." Faith winced. "Give me the keys?"

"Why? Where are you going?"

"I have to go buy a peace offering."

* * *

"Fudge Bars and Nutty Buddies." She sat two boxes of popsicles, one more than she'd "borrowed" on the lobby counter. "Friends, again? Good. So... Where's the most dangerous bar I can go to around here?"

Faith's informant, shook his head after a few seconds of open-mouthed staring. "Look, I figure you're some kind of crazy nympho on steroids, but don't go looking to pick fights. You'll get shot."

"I don't need a fight, I need information for a friend... of a friend who needs something built."

"Why you need a bar for that?"

"Because I don't know who'd build what he wants, but it's not something I can stroll into Sears and ask for." Faith spoke through gritted teeth.

"He's not making something explosive is he?"

"No!" Faith looked offended. _Like Wes'd ever make a bomb..._ "It's a - storage thing."

"Human storage?"

"Give me back the popsicles."

"Drugs?"

Faith snatched one box back, and pounded them onto the counter for emphasis. "No. Nothing illegal." _I think. I mean- do you have to register stakes, crossbows, and medieval weaponry? Even if you do, Wes probably has it covered. _"We- this friend, travels a lot, and he carries some expensive stuff we don't - he doesn't- want everyone to see. That's all." _Man. A couple months around Mr. Honest By Nature and I suck at lying. Gonna have to work on that._

The man nodded thoughtfully. Now that made more sense than the pimp and his top girl theory. Guy was some eccentric British jewelry collector or something, and she was his bodyguard. Or piece of tail. Probably both. Maybe he had a thing for the amazon type.

He leaned over the counter. "Go north of the campus and the hospital. Wait 'til you see the block of abandoned buildings, and then turn left and get back on the main drag. You'll see some bars I wouldn't go into alone. Not so bad early, but gets worse the later it gets."

"Thanks for the tip."

"_You_ goin' there?"

"Maybe."

"You better be packin' something."

* * *

"I really don't think this is what he meant when he said pack something." Faith grumbled.

Wesley walked along behind her, just by a step. "I'm not baggage, I'm the one with specifications." _And my heart firmly lodged in my throat._ Signs of crime and poverty were everywhere. The main thoroughfare was lit and more welcoming, but the dark, empty buildings they walked past to get there echoed with infrequent bursts of scuffling and broken glass.

"For God's sake, don't use the word 'specifications' in a bar." She turned to him. "Lose the glasses."

"So I look more threatening?"

She choked on a laugh._ Couldn't look threatening if he tried._ "No, so you don't look like an easy target." _And because if your glasses get broken, I'll feel bad. Hate watching him squint at the screen for hours as it is... _"I'm gonna do my thing, you do your thing."

"What is 'your thing'?"

"I go in and ... When you're in a... In these places-" She groaned. "Just watch me do it, I can't explain it." She went in first, Wesley followed in a few seconds.

* * *

Wesley ordered a Scotch and nursed it at one end of the bar, she ordered a beer and told the bartender to keep them coming.

_ She says she's not good at talking to people._ Wesley watched baseball playoffs with one eye and her with the other. _She's right. She says nothing. At first. The men, always the men, seem to come speak to her. She smiles, she says two words, she asks one question- and instantly they're showing off, talking big, full of their desire to impress the unimpressible brunette with the killer smile_.

"You can stop starin', buddy. Never seen her before, but you can already tell she's a man eater."

Wesley looked up, startled, then angry. _You can't judge someone like that! Especially not her, she's- she's undefinable, she's layer upon layer, not simply a hard exterior. _But as he was supposed to be here for a separate purpose, and not get in her way, he was cool and indifferent. "I suppose not." Wesley sighed and jiggled his glass. The barkeeper refilled it and Wesley's new acquaintance kept talking.

"You new in town?"

"Passing through."

"English?"

"Indeed."

"Gotta say, not a ton of English guys come into this bar. Nobody who doesn't live in the neighborhood comes into this bar."

"I'm looking for someone."

"Who comes to this place? I lived here for eight years, maybe I know him. Who is it?"

"It's a 'Mr. Highly Talented and Discreet Who Accepts Special Orders for Car Enhancements'."

"Oh. You need your car 'fixed'?"

"Not exactly. I need something made to be put in my car."

"Hm. You get gangs who supe up the cars for- reasons I ain't gonna mention."

"The car itself is fine. It's more of a matter of modifying it with an accessory." _Which I am about to attempt to build myself. Except I have no tools, can't afford to buy them, then carry them about with us in our rapidly filling vehicle, and I don't need Faith to lecture me about my shopping habits._

"I might know a guy who has a business that could help you. Cash only. If you have it."

"I'm hardly likely to go flashing it in here, if that's what you're waiting for." Wesley sipped his drink.

_Cool customer. In khakis. Weird_. "Smart."

"Thank you."

"Let me see if I can get some info for you."

"I'll be happy to pay you a finder's fee in your beverage of choice if you do so." Wesley smiled tightly and the man left. Then he drained his alcohol. _Dear Lord. That was terrifying. Did my voice shake?_

Faith risked a single glance at him. _What the heck happened to my quiet, polite little mama's boy? Jaw all hard, eyes unblinking. Damn. He might make a good card shark._

"That good, huh?"

Faith slipped back into conversation with the manager, a tough and tattooed man who clearly didn't like to waste his time. Faith smiled. He was sparing her a few minutes. _Still got it._ "I'm the best." She hoped they were still talking about her ability to make drinks.

"I don't like to piss off my regulars with no amateurs."

"I'm not amateur. I'm just affordable." Faith continued to give him a relaxed smile.

"One of my guy's been buggin' me about spending time with his kid. Wednesday nights. Wednesday night's dead. I do it myself."

"Well, I'll do it for you, and you don't pay me anything. I'll work for tips.I'd get more than you'd pay me anyway"

"You got balls."

"Probably bigger than most've your regulars." The smile widened, got cocky.

"You make the next couple drink orders that come in, get anything bigger than a five back as a tip, and you do Wednesday night."

"Deal."

* * *

"Murray, Fazbak, and Sons, Auto Parts." Wesley took a scrap of paper with an address and phone number from the returned barfly. "You're sure they'll accept new clients?"

"Does the pope look good in white?"

Wesley closed his eyes briefly. "What can I get you for your trouble?"

"Since you're buying, Johnny Walker Black."

"Very well." Wesley crooked his finger.

Faith came over.

Wesley kept his face blank with an effort, and his informant ordered.

"Right away, Stud Muffin." Faith's voice reached a timbre that seemed to be heard not only with ears but other parts of the anatomy. Wesley was forced out of his blasé expression for a moment, just enough for her to see it.

_Oh, this is a golden opportunity. _She swayed, she bent, she made working the bottle an erotic art, hands just slow enough to caress, fast enough to prevent impatience.

"Louie, who is this angel?" Wesley's companion called.

"New girl, Johnny. Test driving her. If she's good, she's gonna fill in on Wednesday night."

"Here you go." Faith set the drink down, and took away a five. _Damn_. She gave Wesley a look, subtly showing the five and then her thumb jerked up.

_Is that her symbol for well done? Thumb's up? Or- move it up? Or higher. Ah. Tip higher._ "A Scotch, please." Wesley ordered, and prepared to pay for both drinks.

"On the rocks?"

_How did rocks suddenly become such an obvious euphemism? Must be the laughter in her eyes._ "Please."

"Want a little twist in that, Baby?"

"Perfection." He didn't remember her making the drink, although he was sure it was done with sensual superbness. He didn't remember the lemon. He remembered the ice and a little voice saying, 'You should try it with a little salt', and then ice across his jaw, over his lips, her fingers just catching the cleft, and dropping in delicately without so much as a splash. Her eyes never left his the whole time.

"Thank you." He handed her a ten atop the rest of the cash needed to square the bill.

Faith handed the cash, minus tips, to the current bartender who looked amused and envious. "See you on Wednesday." She flashed the ten to the manager. "Now I'm gonna go finish my beer." She moved from behind the bar, earning a chorus of groans from the clientele who hadn't been served by her capable, somewhat deviant hands.

Wesley drank his drink slowly, musing.

"This place is gonna be packed Wednesday."

"I imagine." Wesley now saw exactly how lucrative Faith's chosen career was. He was also was a bit shaken that she was so good at it, and that he'd enjoyed it. For a moment he also wondered if this was suitable work, akin to prostituting one's self, perpetuating her ideas that men wanted "something" from her.

_Faith would skin me for mentioning it. Though it seems-_ he watched her wave and good naturedly laugh off several men who were obviously hitting on her- _she doesn't mind this. I don't think she takes them seriously. It's almost like she doesn't need them, so their attentions don't bother her, brush right past her. _

_And that's sad too isn't it? That relationships equate to needs and wants, who can be used for what?_ A chill entered into his stomach. _I don't think we're like that. We may have been once, but I think we're past it. She could run any time in the last few weeks. She could've killed me. She's past needing me strictly for survival. She and I are together not only because we need and want to be, but we enjoy it. _

_Please God, don't let me fool myself there._ He was starting to break things down, a thousand moments and gestures spread over three months, searching for proof for his internal declaration, when a voice at his elbow halted the process.

"I don't know if that girl's gonna be around here for much longer tonight."

"Hm? Why's that?"

"I think all those guys are asking her to come home with them now. I'm betting on Benny."

"Benny?"

"With the rosary tattoo. He's real smooth with the ladies."

They watched the so called smooth operator strike out.

"I might have a go." Wesley finished the final swallow of his alcohol.

"_You_?"

"Me." Wesley slid from his bar stool.

His compatriot was clearly dubious. "You get her to leave with you- to go back to your place- and I'll cover whatever you spent tonight."

"Sounds good." _That'll be most helpful._

"No paying her. If you buy her, it doesn't count."

Wesley's eyes blazed and his fists curled. He forced the sudden unfamiliar anger down with all of his well-practiced self-control. "Keep your money, and thank you for the information." He nodded coldly and moved towards Faith.

Faith saw him coming. Coming right at her, no subtlety, nothing casual, going so far as to politely interrupt a couple tough guys who were doing their best macho posturing to impress her. _Don't blow my cover, Wes. Don't even talk to me, or they'll know you bumped my tip, don't even-_

"Are you new in town as well?"

Faith blinked. That tone of voice was about half an octave too low and two octaves too badass to belong to Wesley. "Yeah. Just got in."

"So have I. I was wondering if you'd like to -" _Have dinner with me sounds wrong and formal, everything sounds wrong, I don't ask Faith these sorts of questions!_ "I was wondering if you'd like to come home with me this evening?"

There was some snickering and open catcalling, all of the mocking variety.

Faith could tune that out. Like she said, they had tough skins. Wesley didn't seem to hear either, looking patiently at her. "Sure. Why not?" Faith sinuously slid from the torn red leather seat as the catcalls and mocking switched off abruptly. She waved to the manager as she slid her arm through Wes's. "See you Wednesday at 5:30!"

* * *

"Tip for the future, when you try to get a girl to come home with you, don't say 'come home with me'."

"I wasn't asking any girl but you. And I imagined you'd say yes because - you live where I do. No subterfuge or ploys required."

Walking to the nearest bus stop was the best option to get them home anytime in the next hour, so they took the bus, sitting side by side amongst a collection of night shift workers and dilapidated looking people with weary faces.

"Is that the only reason?" He asked, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"What?"

Wesley murmured, low enough for her ears only. "Say we lived in different places. If I asked you to come home with me-"

"Whoa, come home as in come home, or 'come home' as slang for-"

"No, come home because I want you to be in the same place. Not the other thing."

"Oh, right. Okay, what was the question?"

"If we lived in different places and I asked you to come home with me, to my flat, would you have done it?"

"Duh. Yes. Where else would I go?"

"I suppose I meant- why?"

"Because you and me-" _We go together now. Watcher and Slayer. Only I'm not official, he's not official, we don't have to this. We're friends. Sort of. I don't know. I just would. _ "Because we have a thing."

"Have a thing?"

"A thing."

"What is 'the thing'?"

"You don't name the thing."

"Oh." He frowned. "That doesn't work so well for me. I like naming and sorting."

"You think you can 'sort' me?" She challenged with a laugh.

"That's true, we do defy description."

"So don't label it."

Another three stops, and then theirs.

"Do you like 'the thing'?" Wesley asked cautiously as the bus hissed past them, leaving them to walk the four blocks up to their flat.

"Which thing are you talking about now?" Faith's eyes and ears scanned the area, continually checking for threats.

"The unlabeled, unclassified 'thing' we have. Do you like it? Or is it- simply needed and convenient?"

"Don't label, don't classify, and don't try to break it down with all those picky questions." Faith frowned, face suddenly the picture of someone eating bad fish.

"Sorry. You're right."

* * *

_Almost home. Dammit. Home. It feels like home. Even with all the sheets and dishes, I don't think it'd feel like home if it was me walking in alone. _ "Wes."

"Hm?"

"I don't do anything unless I need to or I want to. And lately- it has to be both."

"That's good." _That's plenty. Why do you push? Isn't wanting enough? Wanting indicates a preference, a "like", if you will._

_ But I can "want" to go out for a drink, doesn't mean I'll "like" the wine in a box I settle for. I so desperately want to be what is chosen, not what is grudgingly accepted. _His Slayers had obviously preferred Giles, he'd been foisted on them. His father often made it clear he'd rather have had any other son but him.

_ Why push this, Wesley? Haven't you had enough pushing all your miserable life, and all you've ever done is push until something breaks. Always part of yourself. Be grateful this is wanted, grudgingly or otherwise. _

They hurried in silence. Or rather, he hurried. She appeared to saunter, but now she was so agile, that the pavement seemed to fly from under her feet. He struggled to keep up.

_ Why bother chasing something? Can't I be content with what we have, whatever it is?_

_ No. _The stubbornness hurt, but he couldn't lock it away and trample it down, and no one was there to crush it under harsh heels._ No, I can't. Because we're different than we were before, and need is good, and want is good, and like would be- so very nice. To not simply be part of duty and need, but be someone beyond that._

_ For her to see me like I see her. Something I started with out of desperation and came to -unbelievably- enjoy with all my heart._

* * *

Faith could_ feel_ him thinking. Feel him being that supportive, patient idiot who thought too much and talked too much- and who had gave those stupid habits to her. She walked quickly, as if she could leave everything behind.

Wesley shuffled along unassumingly. Even though she tried to get away from him, she never let herself get more than a few paces ahead._ I don't want to run away. _

"Ugghh!" Faith cracked with a loud groan.

"Ah! What is it, where?" Wesley jumped and looked around frantically.

You are such a little- _grrr_," she clenched her fist, "-a really irritating thing and a buncha bad words that I won't say to you right now. You know why? Because I like what we have. Yes, I like 'the thing'. I like you and me. Having a thing. Whatever the thing is."

"You like it?" He asked in a mildly curious, hopeful voice.

"Dammit, Wes, I'll take it back." She threatened, severely annoyed with herself for admitting it, for feeling it, for letting him make her into someone who talked and gave a damn- and liked it. _Yeah. I'm in some weird kinda hell, and hell serves mean cheese steaks..._ "Just because I like you doesn't mean I won't do horrible things like hide the almighty blue library laptop cable or boil beer in your fancy ass kettle."

_She said she likes me._ _It was a slip. I won't call her on it, or she'll retreat, back into the depths of her armor, but she does. We're going to make it._

I _am going to make it. _The painful stubbornness burned as determination now. "I'll bring her with me,

The rest of the words floated meaninglessly past him. His head felt strangely floaty as well. "Well, I quite like it, too." He said in the quiet, kind voice that seemed to be reserved just for her.

"That just means you're not as smart as I thought." Faith cracked a half grin. He smiled back. She shoved him lightly. "Idiot."

He nudged her. "Cynic."

"Uptight." Another nudge.

He elbowed her back, chuckling, but didn't throw out any teasing insults.

"C'mon Wes, is that all you've got?"

"I think so." He held the door for her and they went into the lobby, dark at this hour.

They climbed stairs, she scrubbed off the beer and smoke smell in the shower, brushed her teeth, and put on her PJs. He completed his ablutions and appeared in boxers and tee, fleetingly, ducking back into his room as if his state of dress would offend her.

She went to her room, smiling and drinking a glass of water as she meandered the tiny flat, pacing aimlessly. The smile slowly faded.

"Wes!"

"What?" He shouted back in surprise, sitting up in the bed he'd just collapsed on as her voice sounded right outside his door.

"Did you get what you needed tonight?"

Faith stepped back as the door opened, the serious face, sans glasses, nodded. Wesley spoke gravely. "I'm beginning to. I - I think we've made great strides, come to show trust and respect, the beginnings of friendship. I feel more confident. In us as a unit. In myself as a Watcher. A a person." He nodded firmly again, imparting these pearls of awareness and wisdom with suitable gravitas. "Yes. Yes, Faith. I think I'm starting to find what I wanted in life, and I hope you are as well."

Faith stared. Her arms crossed and she nodded a couple times, seeming to have some struggle with her face as it went through several changes of expression. "That's great, Wes. I meant did you find some low life who'd make us an arsenal tackle box?"

"Oh... Yes. That, too." His skin flushed under the slight scruff.

Faith reached out and gave his hair some sort of glancing shove, probably meant as a semi-affectionate ruffle. "Go back to bed. Sorry to get you up." She turned to enter her room across the hall.

He tried to salvage his faux pas, be a proper Watcher and friend- _not a steaming great pompous fool who makes speeches at one in the morning while standing in his nightwear. _He inquired about her casual, flirtatious reconnaissance at the bar. "Just a moment. Did _you_ hear anything tonight? Get any information you wanted?"

Faith looked over her shoulder, smile playing on her lips before she could hide it. "Yeah. I heard some wicked good stuff tonight." She gave him what might've been a wink, and closed her bedroom door.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	14. Chapter 14

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: A short, single scene chapter. I decided to break the story here, otherwise the chapter would be novelette length :) Thank you for the ongoing support!_

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper, Cavemenftw, Sirius120, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, AGriffinWriter, Jinxgirl, Austexfan, and Alkeni._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XIV**

_Power_

Days passed. Early September was chill and made it seem as though autumn had truly arrived, and both people in the apartment seemed to get busy with their respective tasks.

Faith found a bar, still run down and minus the club-like atmosphere, but closer to the university and the apartment. She got friendly with a couple servers and got herself an in for the weekends. And during the day, after her workout, she hunted. Not vampires, but clues to where they'd be.

Wesley received word that his final and official visa, granted with Trans-Lex as his sponsored business, would be sent out in four to six weeks. He gave a P.O. Box in Sunnydale as the address and made sure Giles would pick it up, to ship to whatever state they'd land in next.

He worked in dreary obscurity at a back table in the computer area of a continually crowded public library, this time given the relatively easy task of translating a series of factory manuals from Japanese to English.

In between the more respectable pursuits of career and legal residency, he made phone calls and arranged a meeting with Mr. Murray or Mr. Fazbak, or even the son- he wasn't sure, he didn't get anything aside from a first name. They met at a coffee stand in one of the train stations, and Wesley explained what he wanted, provided the sketches, and a small percentage of the cost up front.

When the deal was done, he had to stay seated for several minutes after the contact had left, feeling elated, brave, and quite horrified that he'd just given money to a man who was obviously running some kind of unsavory businesses under a semi-respectable front.

_But I do it for a good reason._

_ Isn't that sort of rationalization always the way to greater and greater evil?_

He stood and began to walk home, face hard and wearing a mask of concentration.

* * *

_You get led down a path. You start making deals with the devil. You... you go rogue._

"Hey." Faith fell into step with his somewhere, a few blocks from the flat he supposed.

"Hello."

More steps, a hand on his elbow. He looked up.

"What's wrong?" Her mask had fallen. The voice still sounded light and matter of fact, but her eyes really studied his.

_Sometimes rogue just means running free of the pack, deviating from the course. _

_ Some courses were meant to be run from. I have my own pack, my own place to run. Someone to run with._ "I missed you today." He said simply, before decades of squashed emotions could bar the words.

Faith's insides burned and throbbed. Not the lower regions, 'cause that would have been weird with Wes in particular, but normal enough for her in general. Primal, human basic instinct stuff, nothing to it, just an urge. She could fix that urge. This sudden flare of heat seemed higher up, a sudden swift tightening in the chest which she shoved away hard and fast. "Well, I'm right here, and I'm pretty much always right here, day and night, goofball. For someone who 'Watches', you're kinda missing that." She grinned in spite of herself. "You don't need to miss me."

"You're absolutely right." _ She's right here. It's worth getting my hands a bit dirty, as long as she's the one I dirty them for, and I'm still on the right path._

_ We're going along together, getting better._

"You know, this really _is_ quite a beautiful city."

* * *

"You don't have to come with me."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to get killed or mugged and I'm gonna be pissed." Faith groused and got in the car. "They told you to meet them at some random warehouse, late at night, and you didn't think that sounded_ bad_?"

"I thought it sounded illegal, which made sense, given the fact that I believe these gentlemen excel in illegal activities. Hence the ability to go around making weapon cases to conceal in cars."

"First- way too many words! Second, they could have bought you the case at a McDonald's parking lot, Wes. They don't need to install it. Do they?"

_Actually- _"No."

"I know what happened. You got caught up in your rebel fantasy. You gelled your hair. Since when do you even _have_ hair gel?"

"It's just the way I combed it when it was wet." Wesley said defensively. So what if as he'd been coming it he'd also been wondering how he'd look holding a cigarette, and minus the glasses? "Don't be silly." He coughed.

"Thank God. If I have to live with shoe polish head again..."

"Faith, really!" He flattened his lengthening bangs self-consciously. "Denizens of the gangland fronts are hardly likely to notice my hair." _Oh dear God. Gangland. Abandoned warehouse. They're going to find my body in the river. _

"It's not just the hair. You're wearing your jacket. The one that's taken a beating."

"It's nippy." He said defensively.

"Jesus Christ... Dude, if you wanna sell the badass image, don't say 'nippy'."

"Are you going to continually limit my vocabulary?"

"Until it doesn't suck, yep."

"I was raised on something other than a diet of soap operas and sit coms, do forgive me." He sniped.

"The jacket looks good. Are you packing?"

"I- perhaps."

"Oh God, that means you're packing the wrong thing." Faith reached across the front seat and groped at him.

"Stop that!" She didn't. "Stop that, or I'm pulling over!"

"A crossbow?"

"You said I'd be good at using it."

"Yeah, well-" Faith slipped a long thin dagger in a shiny, uncreased leather sheath from her ankle, one of Wes's unused "toys". "I'm better with something that doesn't need to be reloaded."

Wesley's face turned grave. "Faith... this isn't that sort of situation. If things get dangerous, we'll leave. Our lives are worth more than some storage box."

"Relax, Wes. This is just for show, in case I need it." She put it back down and tried not to notice the wet trails her sweating, shaking fingers left on the sleek black case.

* * *

"Hey, Mr. Pryce." A smiling man with a thick, orange-tanned face and buzz cut greeted Wesley in the parking area of the warehouse. "Bring your car on in, we'll fix you up."

"You gave him your real name?" Faith hissed.

"I-" Wesley shrugged helplessly. "Partially?"

"Oh man... What are you doing?"

"He said to pull in."

"Don't pull in, are you-" Faith's hiss rose to a hoarse shout, but too late, the car was already a few feet forward, into what had once been a loading dock. A metal garage style door slowly clunked and chinked its way down behind them.

"Faith, why don't you stay in the car and let me handle this? " Wesley parked and didn't look at her. "It shouldn't take very long."

"Wes-"

"Please." Wesley's face was set, hard, voice dropping into that unfamiliar, firm register Faith rarely heard. "I don't think anything untoward will happen if we conduct the business civilly and quickly. The less said the better." He got out of the car and Faith glared through the windshield as he walked to the front. "Good evening, Andy."

"Sorry about that." He jerked his head towards the now shut door. "Figured you'd want privacy."

"Of course." _That makes sense. I'm sure everything is just fine._

"We got you all fixed up. You're gonna love it. Tommy, Roger, bring it out."

Wesley turned his head rapidly in the direction of footsteps. Two men, one black, one white, both muscular yet somehow lanky, stepped from the shadows, a long black box between them.

"Show him what we did, boys." Andy said and the men put the box down a few feet from Wesley, and flipped the lid open.

Wesley tensed during this exchange. He didn't know much about the criminal classes, but he did know when he was being sized up, and the two young men were doing that right now. Under bulky coats and trousers that seemed to fall off their hips, Wesley could detect the bulges of guns and holsters. His eyes drifted past the smiling "businessman" to a collection of high end cars, particularly the expensive black Italian model that the man now leaned on. He saw the metallic glint of something long and black through the windscreen.

Wesley released a nervous breath when the case was opened. _So far, so good._

"All them measurements you asked for, the little pegs and the foam lining and the packing, the quick release catches and locks- all done. Easy."

"It certainly is well done." Wesley approached, slow, even steps. _Mustn't show I'm worried. Or afraid. Faith's watching. I told her it would be fine, a simple business transaction. _He ran a tentative hand over it. "And the layers?"

"Stacking shelves, insulation lined, memory foam fitted." Andy nodded his square chin at the boy on the left, and he yanked the inside up with a sharp snap that made Wesley gasp and his shoulders spring back, only for a second. "Three levels. Just like you asked for."

Wesley nodded, regaining his composure. "It is indeed. Perfection. May I?" He held out his hand to the case.

"It'll be yours in a minute, knock yourself out."

Wesley ran his hand over it, adjusted the shelves, felt the thickness of the lining. Perfect for cradling the weapons, and with enough layers that the top could be filled with "harmless" supplies to fool any onlookers, should that ever be a concern. "It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you."

"Maybe your little lady'd like to take a look?" He nodded to the car, and the woman peering through the open window, brunette with hard eyes in a pretty face.

"My- oh no, I-"

"Sure I would." Faith swung out of the car, legs seeming to suspend time. Even in blue jeans and black, dirt caked boots, she made each second it took to get out of the car an eye catching experience. "Hi boys." She flashed the grin Wesley had come to think of as the "sweet predatory smile". "Glad to see you delivered what he asked for." There was some sultry danger in the voice. An implication of, "If you didn't do it right- I'm not happy. You wouldn't like to see what's under this pretty face, now would you?" But she wasn't the player here, he was. "He likes everything just so." She ran a falsely possessive hand over his arm as she passed him.

"Your guy was very specific. We aim to please. You pay, and you take it home now."

"Excellent. Faith, do you like it?" Wesley watched her saunter around the box, arms brushing past the thugs on either side of it, touching each indentation of the lining with supple, but critical fingers.

"I think it works. Nice workmanship." Faith grinned at the boss.

"Worth every penny."

"Yes, indeed. Time to settle our affairs, and we'll be on our way." Wesley smiled and reached for his wallet.

"Afraid we went a little over our estimate."

"For such excellent quality, I don't mind a slight increase." Wesley's voice remained guarded, and he smiled politely in a way that didn't reach his eyes. He noticed the florid, jovial owner's face wore a similar expression. Expansive and friendly until the eyes- which were calculating and cool. "Your price?"

A regretful noise a spread of hands, a shrug, "Double."

"Double!" Wesley exclaimed, momentarily losing his facade. "Now see here, that's hardly a small difference!"

Faith, who knew what Wesley had planned to pay (their finances being a shared concern), echoed him. "_Double_? For this? Damn, that's whack, it's not worth double the price!"

Andy stepped menacingly close, looking at him, and then Faith. "Mr. Pryce, you wanna shut your whore up, while we finish business, or would you like Roger to do that for you?"

Oh, _no. _

Everything happened very quickly. Wesley's mind streamed five images in at once. They were going to hurt her. He was going to pay, but they were going to grab her, and she was going to fight and there would be blood and death and they'd be running and- and then there was a noise, her grunted cry of "Hey!" and the mental images went away, replaced by reality.

One of them, presumably this Roger thug, yanked Faith's elbow and twisted it back behind her, forcing her back to his chest, and Andy gave a smile that seemed- cocky. Like he enjoyed the power. Power to hurt her. Power to cow him.

_Enough of them hurting us. _

Andy didn't expect it, that was certain. Wesley was aware of his hand flying forward, curled in a fist, and landing squarely on the beefy man's nose.

A crack, a curse, and a shout. "Tommy!" Andy howled.

Wesley howled too, but in his head. _Dear sweet bloody Christ that_ hurts! _Oh my hand will never be the same again, dear Lord, like punching a rhinoceros!_

That happened in the first three seconds.

The fourth second, Faith stopped her awed spectating with the chilling thought of- _Oh, _no._ He's gonna get killed. He's gonna get_ killed._ He just punched the jerk in the nose- that puppy's broken. Wes's hand might be too, damn his pretty boy knuckles. _

She couldn't watch him beaten, broken, killed.

Her body took over, just like his had.

She was a mass of kicks and punches, wheeling her way through the two lackeys before they pulled their pieces, past the bleeding, cursing Andy who was trying to blink away blood and land a shot on Wesley. He was stumbling back towards the sport car behind him, but Faith was there first after an impressive running skid. Her hand slid under his, inside the open window, over the steering wheel, and latched onto the prize they'd both been going after.

"I'm sorry- did you need this?" Faith stepped back, a shotgun in her hand. Power in her hands. _I can make them pay. I have a weapon that'll make this place a sea of blood and guts and brains and they'll never hurt me again. Or him. Never touch us again. _"You thought I was his whore, huh? Well, I'm not." She clicked slid the pump up once and a crack blasted through the warehouse, aimlessly this time. "I'm his muscle."

She laughed and tossed her hair back, that smile turning wider, darker, bitter. _Look at them flinch. They were gonna beat him, rob him, do God knows what to him. And me. Fuckers._ Another pump and this time she aimed right past Andy's foot, taking out the tire on the car, making the vehicle lurch down and to the front as the tire bust with the acrid tang of burnt rubber.

She turned the gun towards the hired help, gloating grin on her face. "Don't even, boys. Just stay on the floor where I put you, or I'll paint the walls with your brains. It's not actually gray, y'know that? Kind of a pink and red ripple. Wanna see?"

Wesley's world spun. He was so much better in libraries than on the field. _Here is where it's hard and messy, and there's no time for research or rules._ Images feared were becoming living nightmares. The two boys whimpered, Andy was no doubt searching for another weapon, and she was a ticking time bomb, the counter rapidly running down. He had to act.

Wesley walked toward her, and the barrel of the gun jumped in his direction as she caught motion on her periphery. His insides tightened, but he kept his voice even "Faith..."

"I'm not done talking," she warned him. Her fingers tightened, and she stopped looking at the Watcher, eyes roving, darting, between all three of the other men. "You ever... you ever come near me again and I'll blow your fucking brains out." She told the trio. "I might do it now." Her hand came up to the pump again, finger curling on the trigger, ready. "You think you can hurt him- you think you can threaten us -"

"Faith!" No time for temerity. His own safety notwithstanding, if she killed again- he'd lose all the work they'd done together. The long hard climb up the slippery pole, and they were still so near the bottom. He didn't need to lose her down in that black pit again. "Faith, please, we're fine. And you've proven your point. You're strong and you're - merciful."

"What?" His words made no sense. And why was he walking toward her? _I'm a bad girl, I've got a gun, I can have blood on my hands again. On yours too. Stay away! Save yourself, my God, why do you keep trying?" _She let out a heaving breath and shook her head slightly, a twitch._ Idiot... He just keeps coming..._

"I think you've made your point. They were wrong to act as they did. I'm sure they know it now." Wesley moved between the barrel and Andy.

_He can't save himself. He's too busy saving that fat bastard behind him._ "Move." She whispered

He ignored her. "If these gentlemen will just apologize?"

Never had an apology been granted so unequivocally.

"We're sorry, right?" Andy wiped blood on his shirt and looked both scared and grateful, seeing a possible light at the end of a tunnel- or barrel. "Mr. Pryce- simple miscalculation on the money. We're good with the original amount. If that's square with you?"

"Miscalculated on what we _were_, not just the money!" Faith spat, growling, lunging forward, But Wesley stepped between her and her target once more. She felt the muzzle hit him in the ribs, and saw him give the slightest gasp but not change expression.

"Okay, okay!" Andy flinched back. "We were wrong, we played a percentage an' it didn't come off. This is a business, you take risks, you make guesses." He sniffed blood in, and gave her a nod. "You're one hot chick, and your boyfriend's one lucky man. No harm done. Forget about this, we'll _all_ forget about tonight, okay? Never happened, never see each other again." Andy held up peaceable hands, and tried a more sincere version of his salesman smile. "I got plenty of tires, here-" he gestured to the auto parts on the walls behind them, "so don't even worry about the car." He said hastily, well aware of the deranged look in her eye, afraid she'd think she had to end this now, prevent retaliation. "_No one's_ gonna worry about that car, right, boys?" They both made noises of agreement, still plastered to the ground.

The gun had been lowered, and she'd stepped back a few inches. She didn't want that thing touching Wes._ Accidents happen. Or I might happen._ Wesley risked reaching for the weapon, and she found herself letting it go.

He gently took the gun from Faith, and emptied the shells with a surprisingly practiced hand. "Yes. I'm very fortunate and _you're_ very fortunate as well." He clicked the stock back into place.

"You know your way around a gun, Mr. Pryce." Andy blinked.

"In my family, the annual shoot is a much looked forward to event."

_Annual shooting?_ All three paled.

_Dude's a psycho._

_ They're _both_ psycho._

_ Probably breeding little psychos, mad dog killers_. "Really?" He quavered.

"Oh indeed." Wesley smiled frostily._ Grouse. The Glorious Twelfth._

"You like the gun?" Andy's voice sounded strangely pinched.

Wesley gave it a critical glance, one eye still on Faith who was a bottle of rage waiting to blow, one that he must extricate from this scene without making sudden moves, loud noises, or showing that he was one tense ball of fear and worry. "Hmm. Yes. It's a suitable piece. Mossberg, twelve gauge."

"W-why don't you keep it? Little present. No hard feelings. Peace offering." Andy kept backing away, and this time when he reached behind him, it was to hit the button that raised the warehouse door, obviously deciding with these two, the more witnesses the better.

"Thank you, what a lovely addition to our collection." Wesley laid it across the newly acquired case. He took out a roll of cash from his wallet and dropped it gently on the floor between the two henchmen, before picking up their purchase, trying not to show how much pain it caused as his badly bruised hand as it flexed around the handle. "Is our business concluded?"

"Absolutely." Andy nodded.

"We'll say goodnight then." Wesley slid the black case, topped with gun, into the trunk with a minimum of fussing, Faith walking beside him, eyes alert, watching their collective backs. "Faith? Any last thoughts to impart?" He asked kindly, as if nothing was wrong, as if everything hadn't _already _gone wildly wrong.

"Stay away from us." She stormed into the car, shaking.

Wesley put his glasses back on and looked at them unsmilingly. "Do as she says. She's a force to be reckoned with."

* * *

Wesley drove like he had the first night they began this journey. Far too fast, and as if he imagined hell hounds were after them. They were in a way. He felt as if could see the old specters haunting her, old demons, current demons, clawing at her. He didn't stop until he had left that dank and dangerous area of town, gone from it completely, zooming into the first well lit, highly populated area he could see, and then parking there in a strip mall parking lot.

Faith was mostly unaware of the driving. She felt the speed of the car, but it felt slow and sluggish compared to the blood rushing behind her eyes and through her veins.

She was shaking, fingers clenched on her knees, and the shaking kept escalating, until it peaked with the echo of a shotgun blasting inside her mind. Instead of black smoke and flying, molten rubber, there was a bright red arterial spatter, gore dotting her, blood flecking her face as she heard her own laugh of triumph. Of winning, of beating them, making them pay-

And she'd pay. The price. Blood money, a new way. Blood on her hands. Never washes all the way off, the stench won't get out of your nose, the sounds of death- they haunt you, and the victory doesn't. That runs all too fast.

_No . No it's not winning to kill when you don't have to. It's winning _my_ way. The way I did it tonight. _

_ What'd I win? What'd I even fight? _She didn't mean the stupid, half-assed thugs and some aging wannabe mobster. Something darker. Something violent, more violent than just fighting, because that was what Slayers do, every night. There was some line she's crossed before, and tonight she'd screeched to a halt at the edge - and let someone shove her back to a safer place. Faith shook her head mutely. _ I don't know. But I beat it. I beat it. I beat it again. If I can just keep beating it, each time... _

Wesley couldn't sit in silence anymore, watching her hold herself together, afraid what would happen when she unraveled. He didn't know what track to take, the urge to caution, the babbling outburst of fear for her, for him, for humanity, the need to lecture, the desire to cross examine and probe... He stalled it all, fought down every instinct Watchers' training had hammered into him. Watchers had not been good at holding things together, at finding the woman outside of the textbook definitions.

"You were magnificent." He said with genuine warmth. _Think about what she _did _do, not what she threatened to do, not what you were afraid she'd do. Praise her, encourage her. Let her know how proud you were that she fought well, that she protected us both, that everyone got out alive._ _That at least physically, she is still every inch a Slayer. _"You were as fast as ever, and your strength surely seems to be back! Oh, but your first roundhouse. I only saw a glimpse of it, but it was- ah." He sighed. "Pure poetry."

She finally spoke. "I didn't kill him." _Why? I should have. I shouldn't have. _Trembling hands raked her hair. _They were bad. They were human. I'm human, I'm bad, do I deserve to die?_

_ Not if I change._

_ Who's watching what changes and when, and how the fuck are you supposed to know when you're in a battle? _Why_ the fuck are you supposed to _care, _when you've seen the shit people do, the way they stomp on you until-_

The hands clenched and slowly fell back into her lap.

_I want things to be simple. I want it to be what it was. Simple. Want, take, have. Never want to be judge, jury executioner for humans. I'd have to start with myself. _

"I didn't kill them." She repeated.

"That's right." Wesley whispered finally.

"I - was going to, and there was a reason, and- Goddamn, Wes, I feel like everything is sliding around in my head, you know?"

He would love to reach out and massage the troubled brows, rest a comforting hand on lustrous brown hair, still that sliding she felt. He couldn't do that though, he didn't know how to comfort, and she didn't know how to take it. He tried to alleviate the tangle in her mind, give her a pathway out of the mire. "You were afraid."

"I wasn't!"

"You were afraid they would hurt us. You were not scared of the _men,_ but what they might do." He continued as if she hadn't protested. "I- I didn't handle it well. I was unprepared, as you said."

"Yeah, you were!" Faith spat angrily, and with surprising suddenness the anger faded. "You didn't know. You have to get stabbed in the back a lot before you start assuming everyone carries a knife with your name on it." She smiled bitterly.

"I haven't dabbled in the muddy waters much." He admitted easily, then continued, "I think you did everything beautifully." Wesley tapped her knee once and quickly withdrew his hand.

"You mean shooting up the place? You mean having a mental freak out right in front of them?" She shook her head, and the bitterness in her smile grew, sharpened. "Don't even, Wes. There's only so much sugar you can put on anything. We both know that -"

"Look at your hands." He cut through the strident tone bluntly._ As if all of that truly matters in the end... _

Faith looked. Slightly bruised looking, bluish on the knuckles, not used to fighting these days. Shaking, faint little spasms, not the steady shaking of a few moments ago.

"So they're shaking, that mean something to you?" She asked defensively.

"Not that." _Though, yes it means something to me. It means you weren't a robotic machine, nor heartless, blindly raging. You cared, during or after, or both, about what you were doing. _

"Then what?"

"Your hands are _clean_."

"Clean." _Clean. No blood on my hands. No blood on my hands! _

The shaking got so much worse suddenly, along with a rapid exhalation. "Good point." She managed to gasp out.

"All you did was put the fear of God and a certain type of Faith into them. If you destroyed a few bits of car that was probably already stolen, so be it."

_He treats it like no big deal- so I don't panic. But he lets me know it's a huge deal and he still can keep it light. This is not Wesley Whiner-Pants._ The tight ass taskmaster of Sunnydale seemed to have vanished, and turned into- she didn't really know. She guessed the closest word for it was friend.

When she said nothing, he got nervous. After all, he told himself he was entitled. He'd held it together marvelously, aside from the sheer bloody foolhardiness, bladder emptying terror, and staring down the barrel of a loaded gun in the hands of a known murderer. He said the first inane thing that came to mind.

"I call the evening a success, regardless of any and all blunders. We got the gear for the car, after three months of waiting, and you showed you're a tremendously skilled fighter who put a bunch of blighters in their place. Everyone leaves alive and we even received a gift with purchase."

"A what?"

"The gun."

She laughed. It burst out, hard and sudden, as she looked at him like he was crazy. _Maybe he is, for doing what he does. But I can respect this kinda crazy, I guess. _"You're one weird guy, Wes."

"Perhaps, but successful. Agreed?"

"Well, I didn't blow anyone's brains out, and we got that thing for the car you've been bitching about so- yeah. Success." _No blood on my hands. I was gonna paint that place red, and like it- then hate myself. But I didn't. _I didn't. She studied her hands as if they were brand new.

"A success deserves a treat. Ice cream? I believe you've mentioned a preference for the selections at Baskin-Robbins." Babbling. He was babbling and inane. _Calling a shotgun a gift with purchase, like a sample of cologne with your latest purchase of monogrammed handkerchiefs?_

_I'm going mad. And she still says nothing. _Faith had retreated into silence again, looking unblinkingly at her spotless hands.

_Perhaps now is not the time to be lighthearted, to try to make a success a celebration, to joke about. To act as a "friend" would. _

_ How would I even know that role?_

"Or perhaps that was just me. They have them in England, you know. The ice cream parlors." Babbling wouldn't turn off. _I'm still babbling. I suppose it's better than wetting myself, but hardly what is required. _

"Or we could just go home." He became serious, quiet, manic prattle gone as he looked at the woman beside him, still studying her hands, hair falling against her shoulders.

She didn't know what she meant to say, but what came out was, "I'm cold." It was true. Had she been more self-aware, had he been more "on point", they might have realized she was coming out of some sort of mild shock after the first hand to hand battle she'd had in over three months, a battle with humans, not demons. Internally, a battle with both.

"Let's get you home. I'll make some hot soup." He soothed and put the car in drive.

"No...it's too hot for soup still. Wait until winter for soup."

"But if you're cold, season notwithstanding-"

"Not cold outside, cold inside. Even when I'm clean." She suddenly rubbed her arms convulsively. "There's nothing that warms you up, sometimes."

Hand on her arm. She flinched and it flew off.

"Nothing warms it up. _Nothing_ warm." She warned him away, away from her, even clean, even changing. _You got lucky this time, Wes. We've been lucky this far, two unlucky bastards like us. Don't press it. You can't fix all the broken parts._

His hands stayed in his lap, but his voice contradicted her, warm and soft, somehow worming its way in and taking the chill off, proving her wrong, if only for a moment.

"I'm an Englishman. I'm far from warm. I'm temperate at best." He patted her arm once more, lightly and quickly before gripping the wheel again. "You succeeded." He didn't look at her, he studied the streets and the ever buzzing traffic. "You very possibly saved my life."

She shook her head, ready to argue. "We wouldn't have had life saving if I hadn't - hey." A little flash of the old fire was sparked, and she looked at him. "_You_ started that fight."

"I beg to differ!"

"I meant, yeah, he was an asshole, but _you _threw the first punch. You started the fight!"

"You finished it." He said simply, though blushing. _He called her a name and I went raving mad. He threatened to hurt her and- hm. That seems to be a trigger._ He felt a sudden burst of understanding for Giles, and what kind of man possessed he could become when Buffy was in danger.

"We kinda bail each other out, don't we?" Faith shook her head and sighed. The cold was slowly melting. Now she was hyped but tired.

"We really must stop that- at least in non-slaying situations." There was chuckling. Mutual and surprising. He took another shot at this clumsy and unfamiliar thing they called friendship and asked once more, "Ice cream? For a job well done?"

She gave. "You buying?"

"Naturally."

"Two scoops." She managed a smile.

"You saved two lives, and spared three others. I think you deserve two."

"Well... if that's the way you're figuring, I'd say I'm up for about five." The smile became easier.

"Perhaps we should just go to the store and buy a half gallon."

"Nuh-uh. Like my sugar cones. I don't know if they're still open this late. Or where one is in this city..."

"I did see one someplace at some point. We could just drive until we find it?"

"Just drive around the city half the night- looking for someplace that'll give me my sugar fix?' She asked, leaning on one elbow, arching one eyebrow.

He conceded. "Yes, that is foolish, isn't it?"

"I was gonna say fun."

* * *

"Strawberry and Tutti Fruity, as requested." He handed her the cone.

"What did you get?"

"Chocolate."

"I never get the urge for chocolate. I like my fruity stuff."

"I know. Starbursts."

"And Skittles."

"I'll remember that."

"I know you will."

They got back in the car.

Nibbling, inane comments about flavors, and then silence.

"You thought I was gonna lose it, didn't you? More than I did."

"I was worried abut it, but I wasn't sure what was going to happen." Wesley was, as ever, honest with her.

"Me, too." She moaned softly and reclined the seat. First time she could remember lying back in a car, guy next to her, and feeling relaxed. Not hot, not wet, not angry, not violent. Just- chill. Even after a night like tonight.

"It was your first battle since you've recovered. Human or demon, there can be evil in both, the rules just change from case to case." He mused.

"I don't like rules."

"I don't think I use them much anymore." His turn to give a soft moan, one of his rare admissions of weariness or worry. He tried to keep the calm front, the stiff upper lip, at least around her, and he knew he failed so often.

More silence, more eating.

"You were pretty wicked in there."

"Hm?"

"The punch. The cool front. The 'If these men will just apologize, we'll be on our proper English way.' All that stuff." She nodded over the remains of her treat, slowly. "You can be smooth sometimes."

"And you can be quite intimidating. I felt like I had front row seats in an action movie." An uncomfortable look crossed his face. "I think I'd rather sit farther back, actually."

Another one of those unexpected laughs. "You can't be further back out here. In the real world." Laughter died. Cold seeped back, and not just from the ice cream. World had always seemed cold. Cold shoulder. Keep yourself from feeling the warm happies about anything or anyone because then it gets ripped away or turned on you...

Here he was, the biggest cold, impersonal jerk of them all, living and almost dying next to her, getting nothing out of it but grudging respect and pretty much perpetual embarrassment and stress.

_First he makes it feel like home. Then he makes you feel warm. _

_ Push him away, now. Hurt him. Get him to snarl, snap, so you don't get used to it. Nothing good lasts._

"I think I may have a lie in tomorrow." He smothered a yawn. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah." The cutting words wouldn't come. It was always so easy to be a bitch. She thought this might be the first time in -ever- that she felt like she'd struggled to find something to hurt him with. In the end, she said nothing.

* * *

"Are you feeling a chill again?" He asked with concern when they arrived home, seeing her pale skin, her strained face.

"Mhm."

"You're also uncharacteristically quiet."

There was the opening. "Wes- I feel beat." The flare died before it could burn him.

He heard the anger in the first word, the resignation in the rest. "I could get those fleeces for you? Not entirely impractical." He smiled.

"I don't want that."

"Is there anything I can get you that you do want?" He asked as they stepped into the dark apartment.

"Nah. I just wanna sleep." _Don't figure out the big stuff, or even the little stuff. Just sleep and hope when you wake up, it's better._

"Right then." He nodded and gave her a genuinely pleased grin. "Well done tonight."

She paused in the doorway of her room. "Not so bad yourself."

He looked down with a pleased smile and headed into the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea, looking as if any word of praise was gold.

She shut her door and flopped onto the bed, a tired smile passing over her lips as her body shut down for the night. _Tries so hard. Asks for so little. _

_ But he's no slouch. Tries so hard... for us..._ Her eyelids closed, thoughts came more slowly, then stopped.

The warmth came curling back, and she slept.

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's First Note: Did you see the book cover? Omslagspapper designed it herself, and I think it's simply smashing. Give her some love guys, so she'll think about making some more cover art. She's obviously got the knack for it. _

_Author's Second Note: Credit to David Essex for the incredibly sultry, languidly seductive song "Rock On", which still manages to have a little funky, unexpected edge (kind of like our characters). If you have not heard this piece, I entreat you to try. Especially towards the end of the chapter. If you're familiar with my work, you'll sense when you should be reaching for a site to bring up the song. _

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Cavemenftw, Jewel74, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, AGriffinWriter, Austexfan, Jinxgirl, and Alkeni._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XV**

_Rush_

"We need to start packing, I'm afraid."

"Already?" Faith looked up from the television.

"It does take a few days. And I don't want to be obvious about carrying out a great deal at once. Didn't you say we'd have to sneak out quietly, dead of night, etc.?"

"That's true."

A few more days had passed. They all went so quickly now that she was actively tracking and working on occasion, and he was struggling to meet a deadline for his series of manuals.

But she was holding back from taking the plunge, fighting the good fight, or whatever you called it when you went out to kill actual evil. Although diving into the fray had been temporarily delayed. Losing your shit and almost murdering three guys with a shotgun'll give you pause for thought- at least these days.

_Want, take, have- right?_

Faith realized she used to like the fighting and the winning, the power, the rush, and yes, the cool factor. Being "chosen". Going from always being the reject outcast to suddenly being an outcast with some seriously wicked awesome skills. She liked that. She had never really stopped and done the whole soul-searching, "Yes, I like this because I bring good to the world, I kill the evil, I stop the monsters, and save the innocents."

Screw all that. Save it for St. Buffy and her Bleeding Hearts Club Band. Slaying was just a different kind of drug, different buzz.

Until you crashed off the high, nearly fell to your demise, and started thinking as you clawed your way back up.

"Faith?"

"Huh?"

"I said, I really need to finish this last manual today so I can proofread it once more tomorrow and transmit it to the company."

"Okay. Do your thing, I'll do mine." She replied automatically.

Her thing. Slaying. He had been thoughtlessly eager for her to begin again, but after the warehouse incident, he wondered if he'd been pushing too hard. "I wouldn't mind if you contented yourself with packing and recuperating a bit more. Perhaps you'd care to join me at the library? Do a bit of research, pick a town for our next stop? Something in the southern states where it's warmer, I believe you mentioned. Maybe one with some unusual deaths or disappearances that -" _You utter bloody fool. You were supposed to steer her _away_ from slaying for a little while longer, you were going to suggest peaceful alternatives! How did that last ill conceived thought come out of your mouth?_

"You want me to get back on the slay-train?" She smiled roguishly.

"No!"

"You think I'm not ready? I'll get massacred? Or I'll make a massacre of my own?" The smile was gone, challenge replacing the momentary laughter in her eyes.

"I- I don't want to push. I have been pushing and not pushing by turns, I know that. I know you've been tracking. I assumed you'd be- gearing up. Preparing to Slay. Soon. Not necessarily now." He stammered, paused, and then pushed on when she didn't fire back any retorts. "Who knows how the fall and the coma may have impacted your abilities to sense the demonic? I've been looking for ways to-"

"My abilities are fine. I think sometimes I can sense them. Mainly around this one place- totally trapped in the seventies. Vamps probably feel right at home. Not being the only thing that's dead in the place." She snorted. "They never really learn to go with the flow and the new spring fashions." She cut him off with a sarcastic explanation.

He looked over his rims. "Seventies bar? Not the bar you've been working at?"

"No, this place is south. Toward Broad. Corner bar, on that block where they're renovating the whole string of row houses." She fought down a strange shiver, part fear, part desire, part adrenaline. "Probably got a nest in one of the condemned houses."

"Nest? More than one vampire you think?"

"In a city this size? Probably. Not like I can smell them or something. Just figuring." She shrugged and tossed on a little more tough girl. "I can always go wander into the houses today, take a look in the daylight."

_Only to get herself cornered by multiple angry, hungry vampires while she's possibly acting irrationally._ He imagined she'd slaughter them "with extreme prejudice", he believed the phrase went. It was what she might do while the adrenaline was still soaring that concerned him. "Wait until I come with you?"

The stupid warm thing in her chest again. "If you want. It's a lot of houses. Twelve or fifteen. I thought maybe I'd start hunting them while _they're_ on the hunt. Take one at a time, not a whole pack, until I pick a mark and get led to the nest- if there is one. I could be wrong." _Maybe I wanna be wrong._

"I'm sure you're not. I have confidence in your abilities. I've seen what you can do."

"Yeah, well- I've seen what you can do too." That damn warmth was getting into her head now, in her cheeks, where smiles started to come ungrudgingly and even eagerly. Happy.

_God. He was right. Happy isn't the place, sometimes it's just a person. _

_ And I don't want to lose the person- even if he is annoying and seriously needs to tone down the big fancy word speak. _

Wesley took her remark as a compliment. "Well, thank you. I'm sure I have a long way to go until I-"

"You have miles to go. Maybe lightyears." Faith snapped harshly. She ignored the stunned look on his face that settled into a resigned nod. _Like he's used to people trash talking him, right to his face. And now I'm doing it_. "Slaying isn't easy. It can - mess you up in a lot of ways if you think about it. Which I didn't used to do-"

"You do now?" He inquired, always the curious one, always trying to learn her.

She shrugged. _Dammit. _"Yeah, whatever, I think more. But _you_ think too much. You're gonna get yourself bit if you try to help on the front lines, okay, 'cause you'll be trying to classify something, or remember what attack position they taught you at Watcher Camp. I just- want you to-" She didn't know what to tell him. She'd never really done the whole team slay deal. She'd hunted with Buffy. Briefly. This "Slayers are loners" thing had really been working for her. Until she ended up in a coma almost getting lethal injected by some psycho.

"What would you like me to do?" He asked gently, rather afraid to hear the answer. _Stay home and be a good little ex-Watcher? Knit you a pouch for your stakes, lay out the bandages and aspirin? Ready the bail money?_

"What you do best." She suddenly saw the scenario clicking into place.

He deflated slightly. _Look up information. Research. Pay the bills._ "I see, I should-"

"Be ready to ride in and save my ass- but only if I totally screw up. Better bring that crossbow." She got up abruptly.

"Are we going now?" He asked, rising so quickly he knocked over a chair.

"Duh. To the library? Remember?"

"Oh. I thought-"

"Easy, Rebel. I'm thinking Friday night. That place is packed then. Peak chow time, lots of bodies, lots of noise cover."

"Friday night? That only leaves us a few days after to take out a whole nest and still leave before the thirtieth day." _I just mentioned myself in conjunction to taking out a nest of vampires. Me. Nest of vampires. Oh dear._ He went to sit down. The chair wasn't there.

Faith snagged him as he attempted to sit on air, laughing as she pulled him upright. "C'mon, Wes. Aren't you like patron saint of the impossible fix?"

"I don't think so. I'm surely not saint-like." He muttered dryly, pretending he hadn't almost done a bit of slapstick worth a month of ridicule.

"Good. Saints stand around and pray. We're going to kick vamp-butt. Well- _I'm_ going to kick vamp-butt, and you get ready to rescue mine."

He gathered his things, she put on her shoes and her scarred denim jacket, still stained, but clean at least.

She realized what she'd said, not just implied, told him flat out. _He's the rescuer now? I mean, yeah before, but _still_? What are you thinking that for?_ Her angry inner bitch shouted as she got ready to leave. _You don't need rescuing anymore, you don't admit you might be beat. You sure as _hell_ don't tell the guy that you might need his help, even if the thought crosses your mind, because then you just showed him you're weak. That you need saving. If you need your ass saved, you'd better do it yourself._

Faith hurried out of the apartment and went to wait in the car while he was still puttering about, grabbing this and that, humming his wordless rich people music.

_You know why it's okay? _Faith argued with herself._ I got a couple reasons. One-it's _Wes_. He knows I'm half-joking. So he went on the attack the other night. So he took out Nurse Ratchett. All that means is that even a cocker spaniel can bite once in a while. _

_The second reason_. Faith smiled to herself as she saw him appear in the parking lot._ I figure it's okay to say he can ride to the rescue if it's actually true. Guy does that. For real. I _have _needed his help, and he gives it. _

"You're certain you want to come with me?" Wesley asked as he got in the driver's side.

"For a couple hours anyway. I can always walk back. Or take the bus."

He started the car. "I'm feeling quite proud of us."

"That usually doesn't end well for me, you know that, right?"

He continued. "You've asked me to assist you in slaying affairs, and you're coming to the library to do some research with me. It's quite a step." _We're a team. A Watcher- Slayer team! The kind of team I want, not that previous delusion of "I order, she obeys", or her method, the "I work alone, and you're dirt."_

"Dude!" Faith elbowed him and he yelped. "Put your foot on the pedal and move the big circle around, okay?"

"Oh. Right." Wesley hastily shook off his daydream and put the vehicle in motion.

"Thinking too much again." Faith groaned as she ignored him and that sweet, sappy look on his face, cranking up the radio on the all metal station.

* * *

"Wes. Hey, Wes!" She reached to the side and slapped him.

"Keep your voice down!" He shushed her, for the dozenth time.

"Do you know how _cheap_ things are in northern Atlanta?" She hissed back and leaned over to him.

"Georgia?" He queried distractedly.

"Yeah, work our way south, right? I was thinking Florida'd be better around Christmas. Or maybe February when the rest of the country is getting that nasty sleet stuff pissed on them. Really love being warm when all the other saps are freezing their di-"

"Shhh!" He looked apologetically at the patrons across the computer bay.

"Listen to this- not like I'm getting into it or anything, but Atlanta's not all peace and happy if you look at the things popping up in the search window. We could do some hunting." Faith waved off his shushing.

"Hunting. Yes. Lovely." Wesley smiled nervously as other patrons began looking pointedly in their direction.

"Libraries. Fancy ass buildings. Civil War stuff." She shrugged and popped her gum loudly. "They have lots of stuff for you bookworms."

"I'm sure they do. Have you noticed I haven't had much time to enjoy the historical sites of _any_ of the lovely places we've visited?" He asked through clenched teeth. "Now, I really _must_ concentrate. Dash it, I've just told these poor factory workers to insert rod B of the press into Georgia!" He hurriedly began deleting a line.

"Lucky Georgia. I could use some rods inserted." Faith muttered and squirmed, getting a little bored with sitting still.

"There are children in here!" Wesley heard her little remark and flushed.

"Why aren't the little bastards in school?" She grumbled and sat back in the chair, arm extended lazily clicking through rentals. Suddenly she sat up. "You can rent a whole house for what we paid for two weeks up here!"

"Keep. Your. Voice. _Down_!" Wesley's right eye twitched and his whisper rose. "You're going to get us-"

"Sir? Ma'am? I'm going to ask you to leave. You're disturbing other patrons."

"Hey, I -" Faith was up on her feet in an instant.

"_Hey, I_ don't_ care_. Just go." The librarian crossed her arms. Faith got the distinct impression she'd gotten used to removing people from the building. _Never removed a Slayer, I'll bet._ She started pushing up her sleeves.

"Make a move, you-"

"We're leaving." Wesley used an authoritative tone that sounded completely foreign to her. Not the bossy boots voice, or the courteous, reasonable one. _Got us kicked out. Right on schedule. Can I sink any lower? A Watcher about to be forcibly ejected from the hallowed halls of a library?_ "If you would just give me one moment to save my data, please?"

The librarian gave them a long look. "Two minutes. Not a sound." She stalked off.

Faith sat down and promptly ignored the librarian's orders, addressing Wesley in a pissed voice. "Are you just gonna let them throw us out?"

"Yes. Because of how you acted. I'm surprised they didn't do it sooner." Wesley didn't look at her, frantically typing. "I need to finish this paragraph..."

"Yo, Wes, look-"

"Faith, sometimes that chip on your shoulder is too big for even Atlas to manage!" Wesley hit save and slammed the laptop closed, fixing her with burning eyes.

"I was doing internet searches so we didn't need the stupid atlas!" Faith bridled.

_ Stupid. All of them mocking me for sounding educated, when all they were was stupid. _A flash of usually repressed anger burst out in his frustration. "You really are a twit sometimes." He mumbled angrily.

The words were out before he could stop them.

Her eyes could have been classified as radioactive. They seared him, they flayed him. "Shut your face, college boy."

"This has nothing to do with college and all about how you treat -" He stopped. Horrified with himself, still angry at her. "It doesn't matter now, we need to leave. I'll figure something out to get the manual finished in time."

He began hastily gathering his notes and jamming them into his satchel, mind whizzing about, anger settling. _I shouldn't have called her a twit. She's not one. Sometimes she might _act_ like one, but... No. She was excited about something, she was too loud because for once, she was interested in what happens next, shaken out of that stoic "I don't give a damn" attitude. And what do I do? Insult her and mock her knowledge. I know she's never spent much time in libraries, or learning Greek mythology. I could have said "You need to curb the attitude, I could have said a dozen things more straightforward and simple, but no, not me. Raised to sound like I know everything, to talk down to others. But when you insult someone for what you know they haven't learned- _you're _the ignorant one._

_We were spending time as a team, and I couldn't make it past the two hour mark. _Humbled by his self-chastisement, he sighed and shook his head. "Faith, I spoke out of-" He raised his head- to nothing. "Faith?"

* * *

She still could move like the stalker in the shadows- even through the middle of the day in a library. She left his side, ran on her toes, hellbent on making a fast and furious exit. Almost without her awareness, the running feet changed direction, dark brown eyes flashing around, searching, finding- ah ha. "Hey, librarian lady!"

"Oh. You." The librarian who'd asked them to leave turned from the cart of reference books she was re-shelving, hands on her hips.

"Yeah. _Me_." Faith's arms crossed, her hair flounced on drawn back shoulders, and then- in spite of the proud front, she said, "Look, I know I screwed up. I'm not really the library type."

"This library is for everyone. We pride ourselves on-"

"Yeah, mission statement, yippee." Faith cut her off, looking back towards the computer section. "Point being- I'm sorry." The woman blinked. Faith swallowed. She hated those words. Said them as little as possible, never really meant it, never felt like she owed anyone any kind of apology. "Throw me out, but don't throw the guy out. That guy next to me. He was working really hard, and I was bugging him just as much as anyone else. He's the library type. Majorly. He brought me in, but that's all. Please. Can he stay?"

The librarian blinked. "That's quite a speech."

"He's- quite a guy. Annoying and crap, but brains like - wow. Mega brains. Loves his books. Kinda think books were his only friends for a long time." _Better than having nothing at all, I guess. _

"I'll let him know he can stay. You- _you_ get your second chance after my shift ends at four." The librarian gave her a tiny smile and Faith nodded, quickly marching away.

* * *

He was hurrying to the car, hoping she was fuming inside, when he saw her exiting the building. And not in the grip of security guards. "Oh, thank God." He muttered fervently. "Faith!" Wesley turned and rushed back towards the doors. _I thought you'd run from me._ _I thought I drove you away. Failed. _ "Faith, thank God, there you are! Don't you ever-"

"Hey, wait a minute, she told me you could stay! Why are you out here?" She didn't give him a chance to speak further, now turning about, preparing to stomp back in and shove someone under a shelf full of encyclopedias. "That bitch lied to my face- I - after I even apologized and told her you were like library god material and it was all my fault!" Faith figured it was okay to shout _outside _the building. "She said you could stay!"

"I didn't stop to find out! I saw you weren't there, and I thought you'd- stormed off. As you should do. Because I insulted you, and I didn't mean to say that- hrm- what I said. There's a difference in being ready throttle someone-"

"Throttling?" Faith gave him an appraising look. _How 'bout that? Always the quiet ones._

He coughed and continued. "Because you're bloody annoyed with something they did. Not that you think less of the person themselves." Faith raised one eyebrow slowly. "I'm sorry I called you a name. You're not a twit. You just apparently have no volume control."

She snickered. "I kinda do stuff to piss people off on purpose, so..."

"Heavens, no." He said dryly.

"I was being a jerk." She tossed her head carelessly. _Not apologizing again. Not twice in ten minutes. It'll break my tongue. _

"Well- perhaps slightly overenthusiastic and indecorous."

"In English?"

"Maybe you were. At the end."

"But then I told Iron Panties in there that it was all me, and I was driving you nuts, too. She said you can stay. So- go. Get your translating on."

"What about you?"

"I'll bum around. Do my recon. Pack up a little."

"Next time things will go more smoothly."

_There's a next time?_ "Next time?"

"We are still a- a team, of sorts. Aren't we?"

The loner screamed no, never. Faith herself, the person she wanted to become, nodded slowly, smiled, and walked away. "See you when you get home."

She was proud of him. In a weird way. _He shouldn't take shit from people. Even me. _

_ Also- when he's angry, he's kinda intense. In a good way... Hm. Always the quiet ones._

* * *

He was moved. _She apologized. She pled my case. Not just because my work pays the rent, but because, _even in his head he blushed,_ she says I'm library god material, and it wasn't fair I was to be kicked out with her. Even though, truly, I would take any trouble she brings, no matter whose fault it is. It just what we do._

The both came to realize it more and more, painful day by painful day.

_We make a decent team. _

_ Now let's see how we do in the big leagues._

* * *

"When was the last time you guys crawled out of the time warp?" Faith did a little happy hour browsing/drinking/flirting. "I've seen more chest hair and ugly gold chains in here than in a bad porn movie."

"Nice girls don't watch that stuff."

"I'm not a nice girl." Faith chuckled. "Seriously though. A Pac-Man machine?"

"No one's forcing you to drink here."

"Can't a girl be curious?"

"Not unless you're buying more than a beer." The bartender shuffled off.

"Jerk." Faith launched off the stool and strolled around the perimeter. Bad lighting. Bad funky artsy lighting with weirdly shaped globes hanging off the ceiling and popping up over booths on random poles. Cracked mirrors in swirls and odd shapes between smoke stained Warhol knock offs. Pac-Man. Hair band posters. Glam band posters. Purple and pink neon lights flickering inside a dying Rock-ola jukebox.

And one very puzzled drunk guy. "Anybody seen Morrie?"

"Who?"

"Morrie! He left on Friday night. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't come back. Always comes Fridays and Tuesdays. And Wednesdays and Thursdays." He added in a slightly slurred voice.

Faith's ears perked up. _One of the regulars suddenly stops coming for a week?_

"Maybe he's away."

"He's not. I found his hat by the back last night. He never goes anywhere without that hat. Papelli signed the front of it..."

_Missing regular, suddenly gone, favorite things left behind. Do I hear a third sign of fang banging or at least some kind of back alley nastiness?_

"Well, if you find him, ask him if he's seen Sue. She hasn't been here in a couple weeks, either. And I know she's in town, her cars still parked a few blocks up."

_We have a winner. _Faith shook her head. A strange feeling ran up her spine. Two people missing in two weeks, a dark, surrealistic, "out of time" atmosphere.

"Stupid college kids coming in here. If we wanted college kids we'd serve those damn flavored vodkas."

"We'd get live music again."

"Stop bitchin' about the kids, they keep the prices down!"

The bar chatter didn't matter anymore, so she ignored it as she drained her bottle of Bud. She left a couple bucks out for her drink and left, heading around to the back alleyway. Bending down where it was darkest, hands lightly brushing the pavement, wincing at the filth.

So she couldn't smell a vampire. She knew the odor of blood. Her nostrils wrinkled as the familiar scent turned her stomach. She knew it was human. She knew no one was supposed to spill it, take it.

_They don't care what their doing. That's why I stop them. That's why I hunt them. Because if I don't..._ Faith rubbed rust red streaks along the edge of dumpster with a tentative finger. _Someone else's blood ends up on my hands._

* * *

Wesley picked up the phone and juggled it with one hand while he juggled the keys and a roll of tape to reseal their boxes in the other. He finally trapped the phone under his chin and let out a muffled, "Hello?"

"You ready?"

He swallowed. The tape dropped and he took the phone in hand. "You're sure?"

"Gotta happen." She swallowed as well, downing a sick kind of hunger and new kind of fear. "Tonight's the night."

* * *

"They have a lot of mirrors in there, but they're old, the bubbly kind."

"Bubbly?"

"Everything gets distorted. Like a fun house." She put on a last dab of mascara, and shifted her cleavage around in a cropped, ripped tee shirt. She looked like a gothic misfit, huge black lined eyes with deep red-black lips, all blacks and whites, visibly torn with unseen scars.

"Or a house of horrors." Wesley wore his jacket and jeans, laden with stakes, holy water, crossbows, crosses.

"Way more on the nose." Faith slid a stake into each pocket, a knife in each boot, and shook off the cross he offered. "I wanna get close to them, not keep them away." She smiled evilly.

"Be careful." Wesley said tersely, unable to say more than a few words at a time over the constriction in his throat.

"I will be. Gonna make it easy. Lure 'im. Get him close, then- well, I make him explode. Same with all guys, just different kinds of explosions."

"What if it's a female?" Wesley asked worriedly, wondering if she had a contingency plan.

Faith considered. "I don't swing that way, but I sure can dance like I do."

Wesley winced. "Faith, this is serious!"

"Which is why I'm seriously going to dust some vamps, Wes. Before they hurt someone else. Like I was saying -between the bad light job, the smoke, and the funhouse effects, you need to watch yourself. Stay where we can see each other, but not too close."

"Not too close? But surely-"

"Vampires like the loners. Why do you think Slayers have no social lives?" She tossed him a bitter smile. "We're the perfect target, we're the bait and switch. Poor, helpless little girl, all alone, just giving off the lonely vibe, and they come close. Preying on the ones that don't move with the rest of the herd."

"That have gone rogue." He whispered to himself.

She continued, eyes watching a stock film in her head, one she'd seen and lived a hundred times. "They take us outside, or upstairs, wherever they want to go so no one hears us scream. They move in, playing with their food- and then, we're the ones who pounce." The pounding in her veins was increasing. That sweet, sensory satisfaction, the surprise and the victory, one more little victimization erased as the hunter turned to prey.

_She loves it. She loves this. It's her thrill. No wonder she can't feel it's a sacred duty. Anything sacred doesn't evoke that kind of raw wanting. Anything that's a duty doesn't give that much enjoyment. _

_ Well, except being her Watcher. This is terrifying. This is... glorious._ "Lead the way?"

"Watch my back."

* * *

It didn't take him long to see why this was the place the local vampires chose. On this Friday night, the place was packed, the music blared from the jukebox, stuck on a single song until it received fresh quarters, and the lights were flickering and hazy. Between the smoke, the alcohol, the looped music, and the floaty vision, one felt as if one were drugged, in some sort of half-aware state.

_You need preternatural senses just to keep your wits about you_. Wesley anxiously watched her move around, looking for her target.

* * *

She found him. It was a him this time. Pale, big eyes, greaser hair, shirt cut to the waist, and long hair pulled back in a ponytail. _Fell out of a seventies rock poster and into my lap. Son of a bitch is showing the neck scar and everything. _

Faith brushed past him, felt her spine tingle. The way he looked at her, she knew he felt the same awareness.

Hers said, "monster."

His screamed, "Ripe for the picking."

"Buy you a drink?"

_I am the drink, you bastard._ Faith smiled, "I'm more of a dancer."

"Mmm. You look like you can really move, Baby." His hands found her hips.

In a booth, nursing a whiskey and soda that was nearly all soda, Wesley's hand found a stake when the creature touched her. _Get your hands off of her..._

Faith moved away from him, senses on fire. The bad kind, the kind so cold it burns, or so hot you're stung and you're suddenly numb. "Oh, I do. I move all kinds of good. Wanna see?" She offered shamelessly. Her stomach was tense. _Get it over with. Get him outside, plunge through the heart, dust off your hands, and you're a real Slayer again._

"Mmhm, yeah, baby." He flipped her a quarter. "Show me. Pick a song and show me."

"I meant-" If she rushed him, he'd get suspicious. He was already giving her a quizzical look as she hesitated. Faith gave an extra flirtatious laugh, deep and throaty, one that made his eyes close as he inhaled longingly. "I meant _other_ kinds of moves, but I could give you a preview, Tiger."

"I like the way you think." He followed her to the jukebox.

Discreetly, Wesley followed them, watching Faith to see if she was giving him any warning signs. She seemed completely confident, laughing as that undead lout hung around her, practically licking her neck under the guise of whispering in her ear. His fingers tightened, then loosened. _Steady, old man. She's used this ploy many times, and she's been successful. Watch her. Just keeping watching her._

* * *

She rolled the quarter down the slot, ran her fingers over the little black buttons. "All these are so old."

"In my day, these were the brand new hits." The vampire laughed softly against her skin.

"Your day?" She turned, smile a little darker. "How old are you?"

He got a sudden, twitchy look in his eyes, and shrugged. " Let's just say I look good for my age."

_Just bet you do. Well, let's rock on. Let's do this thing._ Her fingertip pushed a button of a song she didn't really know, but had some vague recollection of hearing. Plus the title- just so perfect for her tonight.

"Great choice." The vampire purred and pulled her away from the machine, into one of the many odd pockets of space in the crowded bar. "I knew I was gonna be lucky tonight."

"You have no idea." Faith purred in turn. _Stupid, _stupid _vamp. Geez, dude, you'd never make it on a Hellmouth_. He'd pulled them into one of the nooks with a mirror. His back to it, she couldn't see the back of his head. She couldn't see him in the mirror at _all_. Any idiot would realize something was wrong when their partner suddenly turned into the invisible man. She could literally see nothing but herself, looking through him and his lack of reflection. And what's more- she could see Wesley was now directly behind them, leaning on one of the random light poles, trying to look disinterested as his eyes bored holes into her.

* * *

Wesley sat up straighter as the two moved into a corner, focusing all his energy on being a subtle observer, yet staying poised to rush in if needed. He tried to ignore the nagging question of "What exactly will I _do_ if I needed to rush in?" _Just keep watch for_ _now. _

The vampire was clearly in front of her, yet if he moved his head just a bit- it looked as if Faith were dancing alone, seducing her reflection. She winked.

He gulped. _Or someone _else's_ reflection._ She licked her lips. He hastily looked away, but that didn't help once the last song died, and Faith's selection came on.

* * *

_Hey kid, rock and roll_

_Rock on, ooh, my soul_

Her hips swung, slowly, but pointedly. Hands in her hair, eyes glowing up at her smiling conquest.

Or at least that's who he thought she was smiling at, though- with those mirrors... That suspension of reality feeling suddenly surged.

* * *

_Hey kid, boogey too, did you..._

_Hey shout, summertime blues_

_Jump up and down in my blue suede shoes_

_Hey kid, rock and roll, rock on_

She rolled, she moved, hips to his in a slow, rhythmic grind, shifting on the downbeats. She lazily draped her hands around his neck, wet lips shining.

The tempo changed, and so did she. Pushing back from her suddenly groping partner who was itching for a taste now, she turned her back to him, face to face with another man, sitting a few feet away.

* * *

_And where do we go from here_

_Which is the way that's clear?_

Wesley downed his drink. Her eyes gave him no peace. He knew that it was all part of her play, that she was enjoying her hunt, and- and he was enjoying it too. _The fact that..._His mind wouldn't readily admit it, but it became more and more clear as the song progressed. _The fact that she's dancing for me. She can't be. _He looked away. Well, he _tried_ to look away. She riveted him, her gaze seemed to capture his eyes every time he moved.

* * *

_Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen_

_Prettiest girl I ever seen_

Wesley blinked as her eyes seemed to swallow him up. _She isn't what I'd call pretty. She's absolutely, violently, uniquely, dangerously... beautiful. _ He gave up and drank her in.

_See her shake on the movie screen, Jimmy Dean_

Their heads snapped up as one. She mouthed the words and he thought he could hear them.

A deeper bass echo, _James Dean_, gave way to pulsing strings and pulling chords, and he was pulled with them.

She writhed, she rolled, and she forgot about the man behind her, until he rasped, "Time to show me your other moves. Wanna go out back?"

"Sure. Let's go." Her hands slid down her hips provocatively, but this time they lingered, and one hand remained in her pocket.

* * *

_And where do we go from here_

_Which is the way that's clear?_

Wesley followed them out at a safe distance, heading round the front, losing her for a nerve wracking few seconds that seemed like hours.

When he had a visual again, it confirmed his previous opinion. She had the vampire up against the wall, about to cuddle up against him when her hand flew up, and her hair whipped around. _The siren drops the alluring facade and reveals the dangerous woman within. _

_ She's really is stunning. Both the mask and underneath. _He felt an unfamiliar thud in his chest, and things seemed to move a little faster inside him, seeking out her tempo.

_Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen_

_Prettiest girl I ever seen_

_See her shake on the movie screen, Jimmy Dean_

_James Dean..._

* * *

"Bitch!" The vampire caught the wrist that was flying toward him, stake raised, and slid into game face with a snarl of shock.

"Oh yeah, baby, say my name!" Faith laughed, even as she saw fangs flashing inches from her eyes, felt him pushing her arm back. The vamp wasn't going down without a fight, but it would be short lived. She'd caught him totally off guard, pulling this change up at the last second. "Actually- don't bother." Faith kneed him in the gut, and brought her foot down on his as he yanked her hair back.

There was pain, and fear, life or death, and it was a rush. An addict suddenly finding their stash after months off the sauce. She laughed again, an exhilarated sound. "Yeah!"

_Rock on_

_Rock on_

* * *

"What _are_ you, one of those freaks who wants to get turned?" The vampire didn't understand the laughter, nor the attack after such a sweet, sensual temptation, one where the arteries were practically begging to feed him, sluicing juice and pumping blood.

"God, no. Just a freak." Faith grunted, punched him, and pulled her second stake as the first one clattered away.

"You're high on something..." The vampire seemed winded as he fended off blows but was unable to land any. "Humans aren't this-" His yellow eyes widened as nightmare rumors revealed the truth. She is real, and she'll hunt you down... "Are you a Slayer?"

"We'll see in a minute." She hit him hard enough to make the ridges and fangs disappear. "After I kill you."

_Rock on_

_Hey, hey_

_Rock and roll_

"Not gonna die!" He waited until one arm was raised and then moved like a blur, head butting her hard in the chest, enough to make her topple back.

* * *

_Jimmy Dean_

_James Dean..._

Wesley leveled the crossbow on the edge of the dumpster, praying, reciting things in Latin inside his head, sweating blood. _I have to let her do it herself. _

_If she's badly injured because I waited too long, I will never forgive myself. _

_ I mustn't get in the way. _

_ What chance would I have against a vampire? Oh, heavens. What if I shoot _her_?_

He couldn't risk distracting her, so he stayed silent with an effort, praying doubled.

* * *

She clutched her ribs, and rolled as he attempted to pin her. "Kinda wanted to be on top." She spat, making her way to her knees, and both bounded up, facing off anew.

Knees over, straddling torso,keeping him down as he struggled, both hands over her head, the stake clasped above. She found herself letting out a single, victorious yell as she plunged. "_Yes_!"

_Rock and roll_

_Rock on_

_Rock on..._

* * *

Bathed in dust, shaking, laughing, stake rolling away as she slumped forward, then reared back, hands high, face to the moon. She howled into the night, "I'm back!"

"You did it!" Wesley emerged at a run, falling to his knees in front of her. "You were magnificent!"

"I knew you were there!" She gasped, nodding, agreeing. "I knew you'd come riding in if I didn't do it right, so I did. I _did_!"

"I know you did!" He was jubilant. Impressed. Stunned. _How did I ever think slaying was simply a dangerous methodical exercise, a combination of factors and knowledge? It's an art. It's a dance. Sometimes literally..._

"I did it- _right_. I mean, it was- I- oh God, that felt all kinds of wicked good." She shuddered blissfully. "I didn't know I missed it so much, and yeah, it freaked me out, but I- man, I still got the moves!" She gave a half slither, closer to him, laughing still.

"You assuredly do. He was putty in your hands. I admit there were moments I was worried, but I can see first hand that you know what you're doing."

"_This_ time. They aren't all that stupid. He was right in front of a_ mirror_! Hello, big tip off." She wiped her hands off with a look of disgust.

"Honestly! I could see right through him and-" _See you._

"Good song, huh, Wes?" Faith asked, licking her lips again. Her pupils were dilated, hair wild and free, and the adrenaline was taking her places no drug could ever get her to.

"I- had a particular affinity for it." He was breathing hard, but she'd done all the exertion. He suddenly noticed their knees were touching. _She- oh my. She's breathing quite hard as well. _"Faith, are you alright?" He moved back slightly, preparing to get her out of this dirty alley and someplace where she could rest.

"Brand spanking new, Mr. Dean." He helped her up, rising from his knees, and pulling her with him.

He must've pulled too hard. That was his first thought when she fell into him, slamming his back against the wall.

A split second pause. Dark black-brown eyes that were like trap doors, and questioning blue ones that were unknowingly waiting to fall into that unexpected heat.

There was a needy, insistent noise, and her mouth crashed onto his. He was shocked. She was not.

_Want it. Need it. Have it. It's part of the blood rush. My come down. My come on. My cum, period, the thing I need to make it complete. God, I needed this, and I want him to have it. I don't owe it to him, he's not asking for it, it's just- just 'cause I wanna. _

_Won't hurt us. He'd never hurt me. I won't hurt him. Just a simple little post-slay finish. _Her fingers locked onto his shoulders hard enough to bruise, and her teeth grazed his lips.

* * *

She was hungry. Devouring him. He could feel the heat, the urges, the pure primal-ness of her actions. Completely foreign to him. He was a deliberate, considerate, if somewhat limited partner the few times he'd had a female companion. It was a harsh kiss, she was biting his lip, her tongue raked across his, and he sizzled inside. His fingers tightened on her arms, and he suddenly, clumsily kissed back, some gut reaction. She moaned and let out her trademark deep, evocative laugh as she moved from his mouth, nipping her way across his lips and down his chin. He blinked up at the dark cloudy sky a few times, trying to get his breath back and think through the fog.

"Faith?" He dared interrupt as her mouth worked over his jawline, retracing the trail she'd made with an ice cube a few short weeks ago.

"Mm?"

"I think we-"

"Don't think._ Feel_." She pressed her chest into his pointedly.

Feel? He felt- no, it wasn't romantic, and it wasn't loving, but it was- admiring. Liking. More than liking. Things stirred. And not just because she was pressing to him, eyes risking to meet his every few seconds with a playful, questioning look. It made things spark to life in him, things he wanted, and denied himself. _Something wild and passionate, and she's showing it to me... I do absolutely feel honored to be by her side. She makes me feel that same rush. Heat. Spiraling... Risk and the rush and all the edges feel so wonderful when wrapped in the curve of her lips. _ He grunted and gave in once more.

He cupped her face with one hand. Let the fingers sink into her hair, and kissed her back. Longingly, deeply, slowly, as his hands tangled in her mane, sighing happily. "Faith."

Happy. Sweet.

The firestorm inside her abruptly clicked down a few notches to the confusing warmth she sometimes associated with him. _This is wrong._ She hadn't been kissed like this in- never. _There was never happy and sweet. There was "get your rocks off and get out." _

_Wes won't do that. He won't be in and out, breaking the bed, bruising me good... He won't even do more than one frantic, "I'm sharing your high" kiss tonight, I can tell without even asking him. _

She kissed him in the same way he was kissing her, or at least she tried to. She'd said to feel, but she'd never done the _feelings_ kind of feel. She tried to now, instead of a simple physical reaction.

_ What's it like to kiss the person because they give you that happy crap, that stupid fantasy that maybe nice guys exist on the endangered species list?_

Tentative. Slowing down. Fire going out as they kissed more gently, once, twice, easing to a mutual halt, as she tried to learn what it was like when you wanted a person, not the action.

There was a sadness, no, a bittersweetness, as she stopped the fevered kisses. _He's not someone I use._

If she'd wound him up, if he wanted to continue, Faith already knew she wouldn't mind. It would be something they _both _wanted, a "feels too good to stop", simple, joint release.

_I already know he's not going to act like that._ _I should stop, unless he wants to keep going... But he won't want that. I mean, it's _Wes_. There's respect and trust and stuff like that._

A large part of her, larger than she recognized, hoped that he'd surprise her, not stop at kissing. It would be more comfortable, more familiar, to end up having sex for the hell of it, than to stop for the sake of something - deeper? Nobler? She didn't know. She pulled back completely, eyes suddenly almost shy.

Wesley stopped as well, no further pressing. Shocked. _What did I do? What did she do?_ He touched his lips, blinking. "I do apologize, I-"

"Hey, Wes?" She acted like she'd been in the middle of explaining something complicated. In a way, she had been, but in her head and to herself, not aloud to an audience. It was better not to think too hard, wasn't that what she'd been telling him lately? Now she provided an easy, if only half truthful, answer. "You ever seen that picture where the sailor comes home from some war, and he grabs this nurse, and he kisses her like he's gonna break her in half?"

He adjusted his askew glasses and nodded. He supposed he could see a small comparison. Not broken, though perhaps slightly bruised. Her kisses were forceful, or at least, they had been at first. "Yes, I know the picture. But-"

"I just got back to where I belong. Kind of like that sailor dude?" She licked her lips nervously, and looked at him. "So, I -"

"I refuse to be the girl in this scenario." He cut her off with a gentle smile and jest when she seemed to be struggling.

"Right. You're the hunky British soldier guy and I'm the hottie American GI Jane then. I'd still be all over you. That was - that was welcome home and mission accomplished." She nodded firmly.

_Welcome home and mission accomplished. Yes. Yes, she's started to come into her own once again, and I was here to share it as a- wait a moment._ "You think I'm 'hunky'?" He asked in surprise.

"No!"

"Oh."

"I think you're kinda sexy. In a reserved, boring way." Faith realized this was true as she said it. _Shit! Shitshitshit. _

"I feel both flattered and insulted." Wesley blushed. He got a serious look on his face. "That aside, congratulations and welcome home indeed. A moment of celebration, well deserved." He coughed. "I didn't expect that to-"

"Wasn't planning on it, so you can stop the guilt train." She began walking ahead of him.

He caught up. "Still. I hope you don't think that - a- a momentary aberration changes-"

"You didn't like it, did you?" Faith went from placid to suddenly hurt sounding.

"Are you mad? That was incredible." Wesley cried. _Never been kissed like that. I could never even _conceive _of her being the one to... _He shook his head and his thoughts escaped, incomplete. "Truly incredible."

Faith beamed. "So... are we good?"

Puzzled but pleased. It had been a wonderful moment of pure exuberance and fire. It made him tingle. It made him feel things he hadn't experienced before. Best of all, after the sudden gust of desire and adrenaline that swooped them and put them back down, they seemed to have returned to a companionable relationship. Maybe he was making mistakes. He should be more careful. Yet, with Faith, he'd always been reckless. That rebel.

"I'm very good indeed." He peered at her, asking with a mixture of hope and hesitancy, "As long as _you're_ okay with - everything?"

For the first time in months, she felt her words were totally true, "Dude, I am totally rockin' the five by five."

* * *

The next morning, they watched the houses an hour before sunrise, parked along the sketchy street. As the light began to grow, three figures scurried into one house, second from the end.

"Three. Easy."

"There could be more inside!"

"Okay. Still easy." She shrugged. "Are you coming?"

"We're going inside?"

"Don't be a wimp. I can't kill them from out here."

"Well- wait!" She was out of the car, and he was trotting after her. "Shouldn't we have a plan?"

"I kill them. That's the plan."

He counted to ten inside his mind. "Excellent. _How_?"

"Stakes."

He only made it to six before he sharply hissed, "Get back in the car."

"I can't leave them in there! We leave tomorrow, I can't leave if I- I haven't finished the job. I can't leave if I know there are vamps and I- didn't finish the job." It had nothing to do with getting her bloodlust out. It was some higher calling crap, some urge to keep innocent blood from spilling, from landing on her already soiled hands. _Slaying was so much more fun when you didn't have to think past "Fangs. Stake."_ _Damn. I never looked good in white hats..._

Wesley concealed his proud smile. "I don't want you to leave them. I want you to wait an hour until they've gone to sleep. You'll alert them if you storm in there now."

"I'm kinda gonna alert them anyway, what with my killing them and all." She pointed out sarcastically.

He sighed. "Stealth was never your strong point, was it?"

"Um. _No_." She rolled her eyes.

"I think if you take a minute to examine the-"

"I'm going to replace sexy with pain in my ass." Faith threatened.

"Then I shall be a sexy pain in your ass, and you'll be less injured as you mock me." He gave a smirking smile.

_Damn. Still sexy. And still Wes._ "Fine. Talk."

* * *

They were on the second floor. A sprawling pile of them, males and females, some in game face, others in human. Maybe ten. They must really spread out not to get caught, Faith thought as she silently crossed from the narrow stairs into the hall. She placed a finger to her lips, and he nodded, his eyes alert, wide in the dark. She saw him silently fumble at his hip and then he nodded again.

She lifted the ornate, never used crossbow with its long, sturdy arrows, and aimed. This was a pro's weapon, taken from Wes's stash and stored in their handy-dandy car contraption. It let out three rounds before you had to reload, the arrows rotating into place automatically so all you had to do was aim and fire.

She hated to admit it, but Mr. Caution was right.

In the dark, she gave him the sign, and he nodded, breathing soundlessly. He hurled the loosely capped bottle through the air, aiming for the bare wooden boards at the feet of the sleeping demons.

The bottle shattered, there were gasps and snarls, curses. Five were on fire, burning from the feet up, rapidly turning to ash as Faith took out three in quick succession, without ever leaving the doorway.

Wesley swallowed as two unscathed vamps, murderous in their fury, ran for them. He winced and fired.

Faith spared him a glance. _So the bottle was in one hand, his crossbow must have been in the other. And damn-_ another shower of ash- _he's not too bad. _

"And then there was one." Faith told the remaining vampire. "There any other nests around here?"

"Like I'd tell you." He snarled, backing away.

"Wrong answer." She turned and picked up one of the arrows from the floor. By the sudden roar and creaking of boards, she knew he was lunging for her.

"Faith!" Wesley screamed, horrified she would act so foolishly, dropping her defenses , even with one vampire, even-

"Fooled you." Faith gasped as he knocked her down- and splattered into dust inches above her. Wesley could now see the thick, polished stake jutting from her hand as she rested on the floor. "Guys keep underestimating me." She said with a sigh and then a cough. "Damn. I hate when I inhale ex-vamp." She twirled the stake, then stuck it back in her pocket.

"Foolish people." Wesley murmured, and bent to help her retrieve the arrows.

"Your plan was good."

"It _is_ terribly disconcerting to wake up on fire." He grinned.

"Yeah, keeps 'em busy, that whole burning to death thing."

"I believe I'm getting a terribly macabre sense of humor." Wesley sighed.

" 'Bout time." She tossed her hair. She rose, broad smile in place. "Eleven in twenty four hours. And you - technically took out half."

Wesley looked both humbled and stunned. "I threw a bottle onto a pile of sleeping demons. I hardly think it counts."

"They're just as dead. It counts. Plus, you're a real sharp shooter. Nice one, Mr. Wayne." She tipped an invisible cowboy hat.

"This may be the best day of my life. I've been compared to two childhood idols, killed a vampire, and kissed by a beautiful woman."

"Dear Diary..." She laughed and nudged him along. "Come on. We have to finish packing."

"And I must see if I can find an occult shop or a parish store that sells holy water."

"Oh yeah, I need to grab something too."

* * *

"Faith, we cannot possibly pack a box of popsicles, and we're leaving tonight or early tomorrow. They'll melt."

"It's a six pack. Eat a couple today, I'll take care of the rest. Just save me one."

"Why in the world-"

"Wes. Don't ruin the best day of your life, okay?" She pressed close to his side as they passed through the store, brushing against him with a laugh. He gave her a quizzical look. Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed some hair off her shoulder and asked, "I can't do that now?"

"I - think you surely can. If you want to. I mean, if you'd like to, I-"

"I wanted to. And before you strain your cranium, I did like." _Weirdness._ "Unless it freaks you out?"

"No." _It's closeness. I wanted that. It's far more pleasant than her stalking off and insulting me at every turn. Last night was _beyond_ pleasant._ "Not at all."

"Not a big deal?" _Don't you _make_ it a big deal. So I found out it's nice to be near someone. No. Big. Deal. _

"Not a big deal. No pushing. No pushing away, or pushing -at all. For anything." He assured. "Not that there is anything further." He hastily clarified.

"Totally." She put her item in the little red basket swinging over his arm. "Now shut up and let me get what I want."

"You're not planning to do something that requires icing us down, are you?" He half-joked. She smacked his arm.

"Not anything more than that."

* * *

"Hey. Rent's due tomorrow." The manager hailed them as they entered the apartment lobby.

"I know." Faith pushed Wesley ahead of her, and with a questioning look, he went up the stairs. Faith sauntered up to the pervert and whispered. "Come after ten. He's usually at work by then."

He salivated. "See you then. Paid in full?"

"You'll get exactly what I said I'd give you."

* * *

"I feel I should warn you that having me navigate I-95 South on only four hours of sleep may be hazardous to your health." It was shortly after three in the morning, and there was a chill autumn rain spattering the windshield.

"I think if we stayed any longer it might be worse for it." Faith laughed.

"Are you ever going to tell me ?"

"You're not ready yet."

"Is it terrible?"

"Yep."

"You didn't- _do anything_, did you?"

"Wes, I swear, I'm actually being good. We're leaving after a month we paid for, not stiffing the guy. He's even getting a bonus. I'm actually increasing my honesty level. Before I- well- I would have left anyway. I just wouldn't have been so thoughtful."

"I'm suddenly very interested in the roads." Wesley's self-preservation topped curiosity. "Any advice on how we get to Atlanta?"

"Don't stress. Once we get out of the state, I'll drive, you nap. After that, head south, and stop worrying about what you leave behind."

Wesley smiled crookedly at her. "What very good advice."

"I'm just full of surprises." She returned the smile with a smirk of her own.

* * *

He used his key after he knocked for the fifth time. _Maybe she's waiting in the bedroom._

She wasn't. The place was stripped to the essentials it came with. "Bitch!" He slammed the door behind him, and marched through the place, looking for damages.

None. _Considerate bastards, but still bastards. Except for leaving the freezer door half open. _

He went to shut it. Something jammed the door.

Single popsicle. Half sheet of paper, funny foreign words written on one side, a hasty, sprawling scrawl on the other.

_I said this is what you'd get on day thirty. So here it is, as promised._ Punctuated with a winking smiley- with fangs?

"Freaks." He spat.

Underneath it, in much smaller, lighter letters, as if written in an even greater hurry, someone had written,

_See you around, Sunshine._

_ F.L.P._

* * *

_To be continued..._


	16. Chapter 16

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's First Note: Did you see the book cover? Omslagspapper designed it herself, and I think it's simply smashing. Give her some love guys, so she'll think about making some more cover art. She's obviously got the knack for it. _

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Cavemenftw, Jewel74, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, Kerry220, Bookwarnedbookwarm, AGriffinWriter, and Austexfan._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XVI**

_Pattern_

"It is noticeably warmer down here." Wesley patted his forehead with one of the few handkerchiefs Giles had packed with his underwear. He felt odd carrying it folded and crunched in a trouser pocket instead of neatly ironed and standing out proudly in a suit, but then again, a lot of things felt odd these days. "Perhaps we should have stopped in Virginia or one of the Carolinas for this month, and continued south as it got colder."

"You're the one driving this leg." Faith pushed her chair in and finished her soda with a slurp on her straw, making him cringe. "You wanna turn around or stop, you can."

"No, you did some research into the area, I'd like to go ahead." Wesley quickly assured her.

"Research? All I said was Northern Atlanta was cheap and there was shit happening." Faith held up her hands.

"Well, cheap is good." Wesley said stiffly, resisting the urge to ask her to lower her voice. "The other- hrm. Well. That's why they need you."

"Eh." She shrugged. "We'll see when we get there."

"Which will have to be tomorrow." Wesley stifled a yawn and stretch. "I think we need to stop for the night."

"It's just getting dark."

"It was dark when we left as well." Wesley protested. Thirteen hours of travel, spent either in the car or in rest stops and road side restaurants, fighting off lorries and Faith's taste in music, taking turns sleeping and driving. He also suspected Faith had gotten lost in the Baltimore- D.C. area because he could have sworn he went to sleep around there and woke up there- only two hours had passed and Faith was cursing much more colorfully than usual. "I think we need a little break."

"Yeah... maybe. The car's starting to do weird stuff, too."

"It is?"

"I think you need coolant."

"I do?"

"Do you know anything about cars?"

"I know a great deal about them- just not exactly what to do to make them run smoothly. Do you know anything about engines?"

"Nope. I just know how to get free rides and free gas." She winked and laughed. "C'mon, we'll find a gas station and a hotel. We've put a lot of miles on her in the last - wow. It's been a few months, huh?" Her voice dragged at the end, then picked up, sparkling brown eyes suddenly subdued. "Let's book."

* * *

"Need an oil change and your fluids are low is all, least that's what I'd guess from a quick check. Have you folks on your way in an hour. Gotta finish up one car before I get to yours."

"Thank you so much." Wesley handed the gas station mechanic his keys and joined Faith in the tiny shop attached to the service area, finding her browsing through rows of maps, post cards, and air fresheners. "An hour he says. Nothing serious. I suppose every few thousand miles one should change the oil. I hadn't realized it but we've put over four thousand on it."

"Happens when you cross the country, then work your way south." Faith fiddled around with a string of lollipops and moved onto the souvenir magnets.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Funny thing about vamps. They keep their accents. You'd think the demon, since it wants to wipe out all the human stuff they had, would use a different voice, right?"

"I-" He hadn't expected that, and was momentarily at a loss.

"Maybe it's predator-prey stuff. Vamps knock on doors in town, big with the 'Oh sure, you know me, let me in. Looks like me, sounds like me..." Faith tried on cheap mirrored sunglasses and looked at herself in the tiny mirror on the rack, "but it's really not me."

"An excellent point." Wesley regarded her curiously. "What brought that up? Imagining staking something with a southern drawl?"

"Yeah. I did before. Hey, we should totally do New Orleans sometime. Maybe for Mardi Gras. There must be _mad _demonic action there. Easy pickings, tons of stupid drunk people who want to get their freak on, freakier the better."

"It sounds like a plan. Florida for the beginning of winter, Louisiana for- hm, Mardi Gras would be in February or March. I have to look at my- dear. I don't have a calendar anymore." Wesley suddenly frowned.

"Want this one?" Faith held up a calendar adorned with a picture of a girl in a Confederate flag bikini reclining on top of a huge, mud splattered truck. "Confederate Cuties."

"I think I have one in my email." Wesley said in a strained voice, backing away.

"Wesley!" Faith gave him a shocked look, chin tucked down, eyes wide as she gasped. "I had no idea you got that kind of mail!"

"I meant the calendar, and- put that down and stop mucking about with the man's merchandise before he puts oil in the windscreen washer fluid tank or something horrible." He hissed and grappled with her, finally snatching the item from her hands and sitting it back on the shelf. "Honestly." He smoothed himself down with a look over his shoulder. "You're impossible sometimes."

"Believe me- I know." She wandered away from him with a twisted smile.

* * *

"We can stay at Motel Six, Motel Eight, or Number One Hotels. What is this strange obsession with numbering cheap motels?" Wesley squinted at the illuminated signs across the off ramp.

"Mhm." Faith replied absently.

She checked out an hour ago. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Don't you just love Vivaldi?"

"Like beer better, but if it's at some swanky place, yeah, I'll have some." Faith replied automatically.

"He's a composer."

"Okay."

"Faith! What's bothering you? Do you want to drive straight to Atlanta? I don't mind." He looked over at her briefly, catching her seeming to "wake up" and pay attention. "We're a team. I respect your opinions. Erhm. On the matters of travel and survival. On appropriate wall art, alcohol, and music, I think we're completely incompatible, but-"

"Stop. Sheesh, Wes."

"You 'spaced out'." Wesley fired back, not shushing.

"You just slanged at me. Did it hurt?" She cracked a smile.

"A little bit."

"Right."

"I'm only joking about. You said I-"

"No, turn right!" Faith suddenly yanked the wheel, turning them towards the hotels they'd seen in the distance. "Pick the first one. You're starting to talk too much."

"I am not! Am I?"

She rolled her eyes and declined to answer.

* * *

"I have a double with two queens."

"And?" Faith pressed.

"And that's it. One room, a double. Everyone's arriving for the convention kick off on October first. We're pretty much booked."

"We can drive to the next town." Wesley offered his companion.

"And get back in the car with you, Mr. Motormouth?" Faith tossed her head. "Not happening. We can share."

"We can?" Wesley looked faintly alarmed. _Well. We slept on the sofa together once. The same sofa bed. This is two different beds. For one night. I suppose..._

_Look at him. I thought the girls were the ones who were supposed to be worried about their virtue and how it "looked" to share the room with someone of the opposite sex. He's about to hyperventilate into his hankie._ That was an exaggeration, but she preferred things that way, louder, faster, harder. It helped her ignore the kindness behind the worry. "I promise to be a gentleman, now pay the guy, okay?" Faith snorted.

* * *

The room was clean and pleasantly cool after the drenching humid night air. Wesley promptly started setting things out, Faith made her way to the large television. "Must we? Does our life have to become one long series of blaring radios and tellies?"

She lowered it by a notch, and then disappeared into the bathroom without a word.

_Our lives could also become silence. I prefer the noise. Perhaps less of it, but still. _Wesley sighed. That was the new sensation he came to associate with her, with them. A tenuous grasp on whatever they had, always climbing higher, slowly becoming better together, but the unceasing uncertainty. It was exhausting.

_But that struggle makes you _know _you're alive. Could you say that before?_

He rapidly changed into some pajama bottoms and a clean tee shirt. He kept one eye on the bathroom door the entire time, afraid she'd pop out at any moment, but unable to stand one more second in the humidity soaked clothes that felt heavy on his tired frame.

She did come out. Almost literally. Her head and her bare shoulder, the edge of a white towel barely concealing the rest. "Toss me my bag?"

"Of course."

"You want a shower? The water pressure is decent. Even adjustable settings for that 'massaging' action." She quirked her lips and watched him blush slightly as her unmistakable entendre.

"A shower certainly sounds good. You order a pizza or something, if you're hungry. I'm exhausted. I'm going right to- right to sleep." He stumbled in his sentence, realizing how odd it would be to just lie down a few feet away and sleep without the privacy of a door.

_A few months ago I might've worried about getting my throat cut as I slept. Now I just worry she'll come over and drop pepperoni in my mouth or tell me I snore... _

"I'll make the supreme sacrifice and turn the set on mute, okay?" Faith took the bag from his hand and shut the door.

_Safe or not, I do prefer having separate rooms._

He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, but sometimes, a few times a day, just fleetingly, he would give himself permission to see her dance in his mind's eye. To remember the feel of her teeth sinking into his lip, his hands gripping her arms, her fingers hard against his shoulders.

It was all part of the thrill, the hunt, the aftermath. It would be catastrophic to view Faith as someone who would give him those carnal glimpses on a routine basis. _Not good for her, not good for me, not good for us. Too many men fall into that trap- but she's the one who's continually caught, snared and trapped in a cycle of actions until she can't trust anyone._

* * *

So she hadn't had any in a long time. So the hard jets of water stayed in the forbidden fruit zone a little longer than they needed. Not her fault. She hadn't been able to get her game on for a few months, and then- well. What was her excuse for the last month and half, when she was tending bar some nights, when she had a dozen come-ons per shift, and back alley against the wall sex was one of her favs?

She changed into her skimpy pajamas and dried her hair with the tiny hair dryer attached to the wall. Another back alley came to mind.

_He kissed me _back. She tried to think of the way that he kissed her, and it defied fitting into any category or description she could think of. Not that it was mind blowing hot in technique or anything like that, she just- Faith shook her head and frowned, and let her thoughts move forward. _Then we stopped. Because he's smart. And we don't want to get to hurt. _

_ Not getting hurt. Or getting left, 'cause let's face it, sex and sticking around do not mix with me._

"Your turn." Faith abruptly flung open the door and marched out.

* * *

"I thought you said you were crashing." Faith protested as she lounged on her bed and he sat hunched over the laptop, typing away.

"I had planned to, but then I thought, I should at least try to do a bit of typing this evening, since I haven't yet today, and goodness how tomorrow will go. Simply because we expect to have a lower rent is no reason to procrastinate." He informed her with a trace of lecturing in his voice. "I can't let next month fall short after all."

_Do you hear the that tone of voice?_ Wesley's hand paused. _It echoes someone else's or don't you hear it? "Now Wesley, just because you finished this month's submission is no need to be lazy. Don't let the grass grow under your feet, boy."_

_ "But Father, I just-"_

_ "It's the lazy ones who never see a Slayer. Want to be stuck in records, do you? Well, it'd suit a weedy little thing like you."_

Wesley's eyes sparked. "But I have a valid reason to say it. And I was _not _speaking like that." He hissed to the ghosts in his head.

"Huh?" Faith hit the mute button and looked at him with a faintly freaked out look.

"I think I had best get to bed after all." Wesley saved his work and shut the computer. "A bit tired. That's all. We'll be fine for the next month if we-" She stiffened again, that hard set coming across her face. He'd seen it on and off all afternoon and evening, and still had no idea why. It wouldn't have even been worth mentioning two months ago, but now he was used to- well, he didn't know if it was "Genuine Faith", but some version that seemed softer. Still caustic at times, sharp and cutting at others, but then some times- laughing. Smiling. Telling secrets, congratulating, celebrating, lurching forward, fire in her smoldering eyes as she-

You fool. It's because you redefined the parameters of the relationship.

_No we didn't! Welcome home and mission accomplished, we said. A simple moment of victory taking physical, and by her standards, very chaste, form_.

_Nonetheless... _Wesley smiled in his most polite, proper way, very briefly. "Good night, Faith. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning." He went to his bed, turned off the small lamp over it, and removed his glasses before lying down on the edge, facing away from her, making it extremely clear that though they were in the same room, nothing had changed about his expectations.

"Uh... Night, Wes." Faith turned off her light as well, but left the television on, making the room glow in shades of electric blue. "You nutty little professor." She mumbled to herself. A moment passed. Her mouth formed the words before she realized it. "You okay?"

_Shit! Don't do that! Don't _do_ that! He'll want to "talk" now. Are you terminally brain damaged?_

"I'm very well thank you. And yourself?"

_What? What the hell? _"Wes- did you sit down on something? 'Cause all the sudden you're Mr. Pole up the Ass again."

"I am not!" The veneer of polite courtesy shattered and he rolled over, an injured expression on his features. "I'm merely being civil and polite!"

"You're always that stuff, but lately- you seemed kinda human about it."

"Well, so did you! Human. That is-" Her eyes flashed dangerously. He hastily elaborated, "Lately you and I have seemed to get along very well, and then this evening you've seemed ..." he groped for the right word, the most inoffensive word, "distant. Some of the time. I was simply giving you space. Not putting any expectations on you. Nothing- changed. In the last few days. Nothing that would- reclassify our interactions." He said carefully.

Faith processed. Then snorted. "Is that your way of trying to say you think one kiss might have done a delayed reaction in my brain, changed stuff, so you're going to act like Council poster boy to make me feel more comfortable?"

"Well-"

"Because it totally doesn't. I like the human Wes better than the asshole Wes. Anyway, that's not why I'm distant." She huffed.

"Ah. So you _are _admitting you were distant!" Wesley said triumphantly.

"You wanna be eating those wire rims?" Faith threatened.

"What's the reason?" He asked gently, ignoring the threats, as he was rapidly becoming an expert in doing so.

"Ohh. Fuck. Talking. I knew talking would happen."

"I can go back to being the model of British restraint?" He made his own, much subtler threat.

_British restraint, huh? Well, doesn't that sound nice and dirty. _

"Faith? Is that what you want?"

She blinked in the electric blue shadow. "No." _On several thought tracks._ "No, I don't know." She kicked her heel against the mattress in frustration, sighed and rolled to face him, speaking across the beds and the few feet between them.

"I thought about it today. Do you realize - that if we make it to the end of this month, we'll have been on the run for four months?" Together _for four months._

"Yes." He sounded puzzled. "Is that something significant?"

_Yes, you idiot. _Faith resisted the urge to snarl and tell him to use the big brain he had. She gave a harsh laugh, "I'm not used to seeing the same person. Every single day. For_ three_ months, going on four." _Going on forever. I guess. Oh man. Brain spasm. _"In fact- never happened before."

Wesley was concerned. That sounded terribly significant. And he did so crave being significant in someone's life, so be important, to be a fixture in her life. Yet, if it was a sticking point... "Well- surely your parents-"

"Being passed out every afternoon when I got home from school doesn't count as 'seeing' someone. Both people need to have their eyes open." Faith said bitterly.

He stung for her, but pity was unwelcome in her opinion. "There were no teachers? No friends or foster family who-" Even in the darkness he could see the blackness of anger in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I could have gone to school every day instead of cutting, or staying home 'cause Mom was sober and wanted me to stay home with her- or go run down to the store and pick up dinner. I could have stopped running away after a couple months, staying on the run for a week or two until something bad happened or I got hauled back in by one of those 'helpful' people at youth services." Faith shrugged. "No sorries, okay?"

"Okay." He agreed in low voice, violently disagreeing inside. _And that'll be the end of it. I should just say something simple and reassuring._ "I'm happy we've managed to get this far. I have no plans to stop."

She nodded. Chewed the words before they came out. "No one plans to stop. You know... You know the lady who was with me before, right?"

"Your first Watcher?"

"She drove me nuts, but I- liked that she believed me and told me what the fuck was happening with all the demons and vamps instead of saying I was high and psycho like everyone else. She was smart. She wasn't mean. She was all stuck up and rolled her eyes a lot, but I thought she was ... she was a good one, you know?"

"I _do_ know. She was graduating the Academy my first year there. A very competent woman. Very kind, very intelligent." _I am sure I don't live up to that standard. You always remember your first of any sort of relationship so fondly, first true friend, first love, first teacher who made you see the world differently- first Watcher, first person who believed in her._

"Yeah, she was okay." Faith winced, a gory image springing to her mind. "She stuck around for three months, but we didn't see each other every day. I didn't like 'checking in' with her. But a few times a week. For three months. And then that bastard ripped her apart right in front of me. Tore her in half. Literally. Like- a paper doll."

"Oh Faith. Oh, Faith, I'm so-"

_God, don't tell me you're sorry! _I'm_ sorry. I failed._ _I fail the people who matter. _"Hey, I took his eye for that. An eye for an eye. And I would have had life for life right then too, if he wasn't the size of a jeep and packing a party of undead flunkies. If ordinary stakes worked on him. But they didn't. " She put on the armor, all the tough front, pretending she hadn't been scared, she hadn't broken down, pretending she wasn't just angry and afraid for her life, but angry and afraid because he'd taken a life that was starting to make hers better. He took her purpose, took her belief, and threw it on the ground in two oozing, twitching halves and she couldn't even cry.

_I don't fucking cry_. The tough girl stayed in her mask and armor, wrapping the chains around her tighter, binding her suit on so that no one could get underneath, no one could make her take it off and look at the naked, shriveled up soul underneath. "In the end I staked him with something the size of a telephone pole. I think she's avenged 'cause that had to hurt like a bitch."

"I'm - I'm sure she is proud of you." Sorry died in his throat, knowing it shouldn't be spoken, wouldn't be well received.

"Maybe."

"I am."

And just like that, he slipped through the seams. Hated him for it. She swallowed. She couldn't even form or fathom the thought that the other hot rush at his words tried to tell her, "You hate him for it, and like him for it. More than like him for it, for giving you so much, so easily, but so honestly." No, words like that weren't spoken, even in her head, because that was senseless. _I don't love. I barely like. _

_ But barely is enough._

"Three months is an expiration date around me, I guess." Faith murmured. "I'm warning you. Three months around me- and you more than anyone else, 'cause you see me every single day- is bad for you. Even if it's going okay. Even B and the Slay Society were hit or miss, even when we were all getting along, and I saw them a couple times a week usually." _Don't be a hero Wes. Maybe you weren't meant to be. Even if you are kinda getting the hang of it..._

"That's very kind of you to worry about me-"

"Who said that?"

"So you were just telling me that to let me know that you're afraid you'll learn to tolerate me?"

She groaned, knowing he was being deliberately obtuse."I'm past tolerating. I already like you." _Shit. Why do I do this to myself?_ "So - y'know... That's more of a reason for you to watch your back." She said briskly.

His smile was like a second light in the room, voice still even, cautious, but sincere. "I like you too. Very much. I'm very happy. You- you don't want to leave-" _Me?_ "our arrangement, do you?"

_Yes. Say yes._ "No. Which freaks me the hell out, man. You not wanting me to leave- that freaks me out even more." She shook her head.

Nothing. Then a quiet laugh in the dark. "I would be a fool to leave. Don't you see? We've got the best ends of the bargain, Faith. Both of us wanting the other to stay."

"I never said _that_! Don't they teach you to listen as well as Watch over there at Crumpet World?" She cried defensively.

"But you meant it."

The pillow slapped him in the face harder than he though possible. A feather flew up then floated down to adorn his hair. "Ow! No need to resort to violence!"

Several seconds later she grumbled at him- "I wish you'd stop making me _realize _stuff."

"I didn't do anything. This time."

Chilly or angry silence. He didn't receive another pillow to the face so he supposed it was chilly.

"I thought you were smart." She finally challenged.

"No, you thought I was a colossal idiot. And that's the kindest thing you thought of me. I agree with you. Mostly." He tossed the pillow back , aiming for her feet as opposed to her face.

_Even when we fight, he's a gentleman. But if anyone else gets into it with me- man, he's down and dirty. _The images of him throwing a hardcore punch, then calmly talking her back to sanity, emptying shot gun shells at her feet and even bidding their attackers a civil goodbye ran across her tired mind, bringing more realizations._ He's not as smart all the time. Sometimes he's just brave._

_ Brave is when you know you could get hurt and you do it anyway. _

_If something happens to him- it's gonna hurt._

_ I'm not the brave type. I'm the do it 'cause I can and it's easy and it feels good type._

_ This isn't "good", this is confusing. And kinda painful. _

"Do you think I'm brave?"

Wes jumped tracks again, getting used to it with her, this whirlwind in womanly form. "Without a doubt. You're very brave. Courageous." _Not as "fearless" as you seem, but I won't tell you that, because you already know it. _

_He has an annoying habit of being right. Good thing sometimes._ "Stick around, then."

"I will, if you will." He reiterated a promise they had to keep making, had to keep learning.

"Not going anywhere."

* * *

"You must've gotten the wrong address."

"2112 N. Sycamore. Stop the car." Faith looked at the house number. The street sign. The paper in her hand. "Call that guy at the paper."

"They just publish the listings, they don't rent the places."

They both emerged from the car into the sweltering Atlanta heat and stared.

A house. Not a flat or an apartment. Not even a town house, a proper house, small and squat with brown peeling painted shutters on a dull yellow mustard exterior. It had a sagging, tiny porch, a cracked sidewalk leading through a strip of overgrown grass to a neglected looking door.

"They're taking us for something. It probably doesn't have running water or heat or-" Faith stopped speaking as Wesley walked to an outside faucet just beside the porch, used to attach a hose. He cranked it and rust scraped off as water gushed out.

"Water works."

"The heat-"

"If it's anything under ninety I shall be very surprised. We don't need heat."

"It has a lawn!"

"This isn't a lawn, it's- I don't know quite what it is." Wesley kicked the scraggly turf. "You can't beat the price."

"Wait 'til we see the inside. I still say we should have stayed at those other places, the Courts or whatever it was called."

"I refuse to stay anywhere with that amount of profanity tattooed on the buildings unless it's the only option."

"I'm used to it."

"I'm not. And this was one purpose of us buying our own linens and things, there's no need to stay in fully furnished places now."

"This is dirt cheap compared to Philly! We could stay in a nice part of town where fully furnished still costs half of what we-"

"You want to stay in a nice place?"

_Brakes. Slam. Switch tactics._ "It looks haunted." It didn't. Just- lonely.

"I'll exorcise the ghost. Very simple."

"Right. Shoulda known that wouldn't work with the guy who travels with demonology guides for light reading."

"At least let's look around. If it's horrible inside, we'll tell him no. Oh, good, there he is."

The landlord pulled up in a wheezing brown sedan and ambled out. "Y'all the couple lookin' to do the short term lease?"

"The month to month, yes." Wesley said quickly before Faith could go into her adoring housewife routine.

"Well... utilities is extra."

"Oh?"

" 'Nother forty."

"Oh." He relaxed. "That's acceptable. May we look over the house?"

"Help yourselves. Needs a little TLC, hasn't been rented all summer. Too hot for a lot of people."

"And I'm sure the neighborhood really helps with that." Faith grumbled under her breath as she followed the man towards the door.

"Don't be rude." Wesley hissed.

The landlord leading them up the cracked walkway didn't hear Faith's snide remark and kept talking, "Just the two of you?"

"Ah- yes."

"Got bunk beds in the second bedroom. I list it for up to a family of four."

"I am not sleeping in a _bunk bed_." Faith said sotto voce, and gripped Wesley's arm painfully hard.

"Then I will." He whispered fiercely, and caught up to him. "Really? That's thoughtful of you." Wesley smiled and disengaged her hand. "Mr.-"

"Hanson. Y'all can call me Hanson, everyone does." He unlocked the front door and motioned them through. "This was my great aunt's place. She passed last year, and left it to me. All the furniture. It's old, but it's homey."

"It's brown and yellow. There are _doilies_." Faith looked like someone was trying to shove her head long into purgatory.

"Good heavens, is that a Limoge?" Wesley made a path to a dusty china hutch in the corner.

"I don't know, we left most of her pieces here. Folks traveling on vacation usually don't bring dishes."

"People vacation here?" Faith burst out. Wesley stepped discreetly, but firmly, on her foot.

"Not a lot, no." Mr. Hanson smiled and shrugged. "But I can't bear to sell the place and we got a place on the south side, so it's a rental. Makes a little on the side, helps keep my kids in college. Y'all can do a year, or six months."

"We're only in the area for a month." Wesley explained quickly.

"That's okay too. No one seems to stay that long, so... So, I'll let you take a looksee, I'm gonna go make sure all the facilities are in working order." He ambled off.

Once he was gone, Wesley snagged Faith's elbow. "You are being horribly rude!" Wesley dragged her into a corner.

"I don't want to live in a gingerbread house where some old lady died!" Faith pushed his hand off.

"Do you want to live in a flat where you might get herpes simply by holding onto the stair rails?" He balled his fist.

"You only like this because it's a 'house', Gracious Living Boy."

"What's wrong with that? I like having the ability to open my door without backhanding you as you step through yours! I long for a place where the table is not adjacent to the television or falling out of a window!"

"You knew you'd have to rough it, Wes."

"I am willing to! This is hardly palatial, but it's in the right neighborhood and it's private. We could train in the living room without the risk of crashing into the flat below!"

"You are so spoiled."

"You are so stubborn!"

"You all been married long?" Mr. Hanson asked with an amused look.

Wesley began, "Oh, we're not-"

"Exactly newlyweds." Faith finished his sentence as Mr. Hanson's face began to look troubled. The frown vanished, and the easy going smile came back.

"I 'member them days. Ride it out. Ride it out. Go on now, take a look around." He urged again, and disappeared into the kitchen this time.

Faith marched Wesley upstairs. "That dude is old school. This is his little old late auntie's house. He's not going to put up with casual screwing in her antique bed."

"Oh. Good guess." Wesley opened the bedroom door to reveal a stripped mattress on a carved wooden fourposter.

"I was kidding." _Especially about the screwing. _

"But you're most likely correct, Mrs. Pryce." He bowed his head with a cheeky smirk.

"Don't be cute." She actually felt her cheeks begin to turn pink.

"I'm not cute. I believe you said sexy in a boring way?" The smirk remained, her color rose until she slashed it away with her abrupt subject changes.

"You really want to stay here?"

"I prefer it to the other places we saw today, yes. It feels- home-like."

"It feels creepy!" Faith ignored the nice, if old and somewhat scarred furnishings, the woven rugs, and the faded yellow curtains in the rooms and began marching back downstairs. "I'm sharing space with one dude, one dude and one ghost is out!"

"I can get rid of -"

"You are not going to kick some sweet little granny ghost out, are ya?"

At that comment, Wesley gave up with a sigh. "I'll thank him for his time and we can drive on." A whole day wasted, looking at places, reading the local paper, checking the local bulletin boards in the cafe they had lunch in... _We're getting too picky, both of us, on opposite ends of the spectrum, which can only lead to disaster. When we were afraid for our lives we chose any haven, no matter how nicely or poorly appointed. We'll have to work out alternating months. She picks October's home, I pick November's, and so forth._ He followed her down the stairs.

"Mr. Hanson, thank you for your time, but I'm afraid-"

"Did your aunt die here?" Faith cut in.

"Oh dear Lord." Wesley put a hand to his brow.

"Huh? Why do you ask?" Mr. Hanson looked flabbergasted.

"I got a wicked weird vibe. I'm superstitious." Faith shrugged.

"Hm. Well, don't know what it's from, though Auntie'd agree with you 'bout superstition. Was real superstitious herself, listed to those old mediums and fortune tellers on the radio. She didn't die here, died in the county nursing home a few miles away. Went down hill real fast. She got a real bad fright one night, said these two boys came to the house- but they didn't hurt her or nothing. She wouldn't let 'em in, and she called the police and they ran before they came." He wiped his perspiring forehead. "I knew it was time for her to get outta the neighborhood then. She was always dead set against it, but even spry as she was, she didn't need that kinda hassle." He tapped his head. "I think it turned her mind a little. Said the boys could change their faces around, and their eyes started to glow. She went up and down the street tryin' to warn the neighbors not to let people in ..." He grunted. "Made me damn angry I can tell you. Never caught them. Don't know what kinda Halloween hoo-ha they were usin' but they oughta rot in jail, scarin' an old lady out of her wits."

The duo exchanged a look and frowned. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that." Wesley finally said. Faith nodded stiffly, unused to showing sympathy in a genuine manner.

The man sighed. "Look folks, I know this part of town's gone down hill, though it ain't near as bad as it could be. My aunt loved this place. She wanted me to have it, wouldn't let us take her to the home until she'd signed this place over to me, goin' on and on about how this place had to have an owner or them boys'd get in."

Faith's eyes widened and Wesley's jaw dropped slightly as suspicions cemented.

"If it ain't for you, I understand. But it means a lot to me and I like to let families have it if they need it. Usually people just movin' to the city, waitin' for a house to close or some such. If it ain't for you, it ain't for you."

"We'll take it." Faith blurted. Wesley's eyes widened so much his glasses fell down the bridge of his nose. Mr. Hanson chuckled.

"Well alright then. What about your 'vibe'?"

"I think I owe it to your aunt to - uh- give the place a try." Faith smiled as sweetly and innocently as she could, though it felt unfamiliar.

"Sounds nice and fair." Mr. Hanson nodded and grinned back. "I'm gonna trim up that little patch of lawn real quick, you folks got cash in hand or do we need to go do a cashier's check?"

"I have cash." Wesley reached into his pocket, but Hanson held up a hand.

"This is Georgia, son. We don't rush so much as you do up North. Can't. Sweat to death." He laughed good-naturedly. "Lemme take care of the lawn and get your keys, then you can pay me."

* * *

"What a charming man!" Wesley enthused as Hanson left.

"Yeah, yeah, real Andy Griffith type, who gives a crap?" Faith moved closer to him, eyes locked and intense. "Did you hear what he said?"

"Oh. Yes, the aunt. Demons, most likely vampires from the description. Or she could simply be suffering from dementia." He pointed out reasonably.

"I don't buy that."

"I thought you hated it here?"

"That was before I found out vampires made this lady get put in an institution! I can relate." She made herself look indifferent for a second, shrugging, "Besides, aside from the old girl's horrible taste in colors, we sound alike. We don't take shit from vampires, we're feisty, and we're not afraid to live in the rough parts of town."

"You do realize you sound very much like a woman with a mission, about to begin to avenge an innocent?"

"Why would you bring that up?" She slapped his shoulder, pushing past him.

"Because it thrills me." He followed her. "Don't you feel that - that _warmth_ inside from doing something noble, from truly fighting the good fight simply because it _is_ the good fight?" He asked wistfully, eyes heavenward, the picture of a modern day Launcelot minus the sword.

She pondered. "Nope." Faith grinned.

"Well... I do. A definite warm glowing sensation"

"That's the corned beef you had for lunch. Try some alka-seltzer." She headed out to the car. _Warm glow? My ass. More like ticked off. _

_ I just signed on for slay duty. Full time. Again. Urgghhhhh. _

_ At least there's gonna be lots of fighting involved, 'cause mama's pissed off already..._

* * *

They were getting to be experts at the basics. The car was unloaded, the house made "theirs" in a few hours the first night, then the grocery store was found and food bought. They noted the location of the nearest library and bars on the way to and from the store, also cruising aimlessly around in the city at night, getting a feel for the safe zones and troubled areas. They seemed to be right on the borderlands, a little part of the neighborhood slowly caving into the decay next to it, but holding on as long as it could. Beds were made and then they slept, Wesley feeling out of place in a bunk, but grateful it was at least it was full sized, and Faith feeling strange just being in a house, full stop. She didn't tell Wesley, figuring he could guess, but she'd never lived in a house. This upstairs, downstairs, tiny little yard, porch and fence deal made her feel like she was rattling around, too much space. She had gotten used to cramped and compact. The empty space around her seemed to make her recognize pangs of empty space inside her.

* * *

Patterns were different this time.

"Fa-aith!"

Faith sat up, yanking a stake out from under her pillow as she did so, blurry-eyed and wild-maned. "Huh? What? Wes?"

"Breakfast is ready!"

She flopped back down on the bed, wrist across her forehead, blinking. "Is he kidding?" She looked at the clock above the dresser. Eight. "In the morning?" She winced. Light was coming through the yellow ruffled curtains. "He never wakes me._ Why _is he waking me?" She sat up again. "What's going on?" She hollered down the stairs.

"Scrambled eggs and toast!" Wesley shouted back.

* * *

Faith staggered into the kitchen, a wreck of tangled hair, dark circles, and snarls. "Since when do you wake me up before you go to the library?"

"Since I thought you'd like a nice hot breakfast. Look- a toaster!" He seemed quite pleased with the small appliance. "Proper toast. I couldn't find a toast rack, but- Oh dear. I should have bought jam. Or butter. Did we buy butter?" He ducked back into the fridge, rummaging.

Faith plopped down in the chair. _I'm stuck in a family comedy-slash- fright night-flick . _

_The supportive yet annoying yet kinda nice person who watches my back while I dust vamps. Who's always hanging around. Actually- he's pretty good about giving me some space. Not always so quick on catching the cues, but he's getting better._

_ The house. An actual fucking house with upstairs and downstairs and a porch. Not a stoop. Not a fire escape. A _porch_. The hot breakfast. Someone who says goodnight to me every night and asks me how my day was every day. I cooked a roast for this guy. Okay, it was more like a blackened side of cow, but I tried._

That list she never spoke of, thought of, or admitted existed? The list of all the things you've wanted but never said out loud, the list filled with tons of unspoken things he summed up so nice and neat in his simple, angry yearning, "Is it so bad to want something you've never had, but watched everyone around you get?"

Faith was pretty sure a lot of this stuff was on that list.

_Push it away then. You wanna get comfy and get it ripped away? Don't let him break you down, make you weak. Tell him to fix his own food and you'll do the same. You just share the place, you're not family. And he sure as hell doesn't need to wake you up so early, or at all. You're a night creature, hunting in the dark, and loving it, knowing everything scary in the shadows is afraid of you. Go on. Tell him. _

"Oh dammit, I didn't get it after all. We did buy juice. Would you like some?"

"Thanks."

_What the hell? Where's the pushing away? The yelling? "Thanks"? That's all you can say?_

"I promise not to wake you up once we start patrolling the area. If we do. Are we?"

"Yep. You don't have to come." _There. See, I'm pushing._

"I would like to, if you don't think I'm a liability." He smiled and put a plate in front of her.

"Of course you are." _Anything you care about is a liability. _

"Oh."

"I still want you there. I just- thought you'd be beat. With all that translating."

"I'll save some energy for you." He assured and sat across from her.

"You can come if you don't get hurt."

Wesley paused, fork halfway to his mouth. _I cant promise that!_

_ Don't you hear what's underneath? She doesn't want you to get hurt. She thinks about it, and not just in passing. _

"I'll do my best." He clinked his teacup to her glass rim and resumed eating.

They ate with occasional bursts of small talk, then he was gone, and she was back to bed.

Her eyes wouldn't stay shut. _You did the opposite of everything I told you to do! _The hard voice, the cold voice, the voice of survival and self-preservation shouted inside her head, waking her each time she began to drift. _You're - becoming some different person! You're turning into a goody two shoes who cares about "feelings" and "being nice"! When has someone ever done that for you, huh?_

"Wes does it. All the time."

The angry voice shut off, simply left her head.

Faith sat up with a puzzled frown. She sighed and walked slowly to the shower, shedding clothes on the way. "Oh boy. Personal growth." She rubbed her temples. "Feels a lot like a hangover..."

* * *

In spite of growing- there was a lot that stayed the same.

Arguments still ran rampant.

"I think it'd be easier that's all. I pick one month, you pick the next. We know each other's likes and dislikes well enough by now. In terms of housing at least."

"I'll think about it. This counts as your pick, right?"

"No! Yours. I was ready to leave, and you then you told Hanson we'd take it!" Wesley cried.

"So? You picked it first."

"But you agreed! When you didn't, I changed my mind in order to make you more comfortable!"

"You did?"

"Of course I did."

She softened. Then crossed her arms. "Still your pick."

"Bloody..." He counted to five. "I need some tea."

"Get me a beer while you're in there?"

* * *

Work was the same.

"Hello? Hello yes, I'm calling from- yes, thank you. Listen, these page numbers do not match up. The notes and the - Hm? Parli inglese? Ah. Questi i numeri di pagina non corrispondono. Mi dispiace che sia un collegamento molto male. Questi i numeri di pagina ... non corrispondono!"

"Trouble in paradise?" Faith grunted, doing her seventieth push up.

He hung up. "Even when we both speak the same language, the phone connection is very poor." Wesley grumbled. "Dash it. I'll have to call my boss if I can't get this sorted. In the mean time, I have that dishwasher assembly manual to work on."

"Don't forget the almighty blue cable." Faith reversed positions into sit ups.

"And don't forget to include some cardio. And stay hydrated. Oh, and the oil is in the bathroom next to the gauze, if you get muscle cramps."

"Roger. Go hit the books."

* * *

"See you for dinner."

"I can't do dinner tonight or Saturday."

"Which bar?" He asked without looking up from his book.

"Clay's tonight, Skidrow Sam's on Saturday."

"How'd you get those so quickly?" He raised his head.

"I didn't wear a bra and I shook a couple martinis." She trotted up the stairs past him.

Wesley turned to watch her go.

_Hrm. That might do it. _He ran a finger under his collar and decided even ninety degrees outside might be less hot and sweaty that remaining in the house. He took his book out to read on the porch.

* * *

_Different_

Training was different.

"Today we begin with the ancient art of - stop that!" Wesley found himself playfully advanced upon.

"I don't do ancient art! I do dirty and dusty." She took a few shadow punches in his general direction.

"You keep dropping your shoulders! You leave yourself wide open, as if you don't care if they tear you to pieces!"

She faltered. Maybe she didn't. "Don't be an ass. If there's one thing I can do, it's take care of myself!" Another punch, a jab, and she spun, legs not graceful, simply fast and deadly.

"Your technique is raw and effective, but it's not a crime to exercise a little more caution! Just because you heal quickly doesn't mean I want to see you hurt!"

"Shut up!"

"I don't want to!" His eyes blazed. He couldn't imagine her being hurt. He had never really trained with her defensively, and now that he did, he could see the flaws. Lethal, dangerous, beautifully savage- and challenging. Challenging the whole world to take a swing, tear off a piece of her, because she could stand the pain. _But I can't. _

"You're acting like a kid!"

_Well, I was never a man, was I? Just constantly ordered to be one, while constantly being faulted for innocence, fear, other youthful shames._ He risked a lightening strike, not to hurt, just to touch. His hand connected with her firm abdomen, and she gasped.

"It that was a knife, you'd be bleeding out very quickly, and painfully. Please don't leave yourself so open." He left the room.

"Wes! Get back in here! How'd you do that?"

He risked a smile. "I watched you. Found an opening, an exposed spot. I'm good at that."

_Yeah he is... _"So come back and show me." She bounced in an agitated boxer's shuffle. Careless and fast. There was the thud of wood and the chink of glass.

"Oh! Heavens, be careful, that's Royal Doulton!" Wesley ran to the china cabinet.

"What?"

"The vase!"

"Fuck Wes, move the china cabinet if you're so worried about your dishes. This is why gyms don't double as antique stores." She rolled her eyes.

He stared at her, faint exasperation on his face. "Oh yes. I'll just pick it up, shall I?"

" Fine. _I'll _move it."

"Carefully!"

"So help me, Wes..."

"I'll be delighted to help you. _Faith_."

Somehow they still ended up smiling.

* * *

Nights were the true difference.

"Ready, Rebel?"

"I don't think you should call me that in this city." Wesley snickered and she joined him. Then the tension was back. "Where?"

"Those dump apartments. Squatters of the fang-bangin' kind. I saw them at the end of my shift."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

* * *

There were five but it didn't seem to matter to her. She was fury and rage and savage enjoyment. He found himself swallowing hard as he watched her punch straight through one chest, take a dagger across a throat with enough force to severe a spine.

_One's duty shouldn't give one such... an awkward, voyeuristic sensation. _

But it did. Watching her fight was like watching something terribly intimate and physical. She knew it. She pressed closed to him, dust on her clothes, almost quivering. "Water bottle?"

"Here." He uncapped it for her, and watched her drain it, inches from his own mouth, which was suddenly dry. Again, she knew it. Licking her lips, still inches from his.

"Thirsty?" She would offer him such wet delights, in post-battle haze. In fact- she wanted those same delights, wet and sticky, and hard, making splayed-body angels in the dust of devils.

"Not to worry." He lifted a second bottle and drank a few sips.

"Wes- was that holy water?"

"Sometimes I could use a little more holiness." He said with a ragged gasp.

Her lips against his ear in a smile. "Actually, I think getting a little bit of the devil in you might work better."

Another swallow. "Is this how you always patrol?"

She paused, liquid brown eyes, alight with hunger, slowly dimmed, "I don't know."

* * *

It wasn't. Sometimes it was frantic and scary.

"Faith!" He came skidding through the darkness and dust, calling urgently, "Faith, Faith, Faith, there's one more round the back and- your hands are full."

"Ya think?" She grunted, each hand fending off a vampire. "Just wait!"

"I can't! I think he had someone with him!" Wesley gave her a desperate look and tore off on his own, round the block, down towards the underpass they were at that night. _Oh God. Oh God. Here I go. Picture John Wayne in Rio Bravo. "Let's get this straight. You don't like? I don't like a lot of things. I don't like your men sittin' on the road bottling up this town. I don't like your men watching us, trying to catch us with our backs turned..." Right. For the innocents. For the citizens in that little western town- or the northern portions of Atlanta. Either way. _He took several deep breaths and ran faster, teeth locked, jaw clenched..

"Wesley!" Faith blinked and cracked one neck, and a rib on the other. "I don't have time for this. Wes!" _Sonfoabitch. Gonna get himself killed..._

* * *

"Put her down. Put her down or I'll shoot you." Wesley said evenly, showing no fear. _That won't really matter. He can still smell it. I'm sure I reek of it._

"Guns don't work. And you're next." The vampire held a woman- half conscious, half-dead, bleeding, Wesley didn't know how badly.

"It isn't a gun." He whispered and fired. The vampire moved too quickly, the woman became a shield, and the crossbow's bolt went through her shoulder. The body jerked.

Wesley suppressed a whimper. _I shot the victim! I shot the- well, at least she's still alive. Until I fire again... _"Let her go." He said in a voice that still sounded falsely confident and commanding.

"No. I don't come over to your house and take your dinner, do I?"

"Only because you and I don't eat the same things." Wesley found himself inching forward.

"Put another hole in her, I don't care."

"Why don't you run? Leave her and go." Wesley whispered. _We'll hunt you tomorrow night. Or every night until you're gone, ashes on the ground._

"Why don't you take your own advice?"

"I can't. I only allow myself one mistake per evening these days." He zigged suddenly, arm suddenly dropping from shoulder height until the bow pointed almost straight down and the wooden arrow went whistling.

The vampire howled as the shot went through his foot, skewering him to the ground. He dropped the woman to yank the arrow free. He never saw the brunette flying off the low, rusted bridge behind him, never even gasped as she stuck the stake into his back until it hit the heart.

Faith ignored the triumph in favor of shouting at him. "What the hell were you-"

The pretense of calm fled completely and Wesley cut her off in a panic. "I hit the woman! I hit the victim! Oh dear God!" He gently shook her shoulder. "Miss? Miss?"

Faith stood in the dust and watched Wesley almost passing out in apology over some bleeding bimbo. "How bad is it?"

"The neck wound isn't severe... large bump on the back of the head." Wesley examined he quickly, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. "Oh. And there's the very sharp, high grade silver tipped arrow just under the shoulder blade! I'm _so_ sorry!"

Faith came around behind him, and for a second Wesley forgot his hyperactive apologizing as her arms went around his back, her hair brushed his cheek. _She's comforting me? If I wasn't so upset this would be very touching and refreshing. _

"I left mine in the house." Faith straightened up with his cell phone to her ear. "911."

"Oh." He nodded. "Oh. Good plan. Are the others...?"

"Nice and dead -oh yeah, hey." Faith turned her attention to the phone as a voice crackled in her ear. " Yeah, look, I don't know the address. There's this bridge and a gnarly old underpass that's being used as a dump? No. Shit, I'm new and town, too. Okay, you go three blocks south of West Wayne and..." Faith talked to the dispatcher. Wesley clotted blood and tried to ease out the arrow, pulling it through, not back out.

Soon they heard sirens. She pulled him away. "They got this."

"I _shot_ her." Wesley seemed stunned.

Her anger faded. He wasn't hurt. And it was easy to make a mistake. An accidental one. His was _real_ accident, not a "Never think, just stake" kind of accident. "You saved her life."

"But I was reckless, I didn't think ahead, I didn't anticipate his moves, I-"

"Want me to go back and rip her throat out, Wes? Think she'd like that more than the little hole in her shoulder? Last time I attacked someone with friendly fire, I tore his heart a new one. She's lucky." Faith snarled. He silenced. "We're good for tonight."

He nodded.

* * *

"You scared the shit outta me." Faith tossed over her shoulder as she stomped up the stairs.

"What?"

"Taking that vamp on by yourself."

"You were busy."

"You couldn't wait?"

"She might've been killed."

"So you saved her?"

"Well- yes. I did."

She turned and smiled in the narrow stairway, crossing her arms briefly before she tipped an imaginary cowboy hat. "All I'm sayin' Mr. Wayne."

* * *

Wesley hesitated before going upstairs. He turned back, over to his stack of books. Found one that was leather bound- and empty.

It was to be his Watcher's Journal, though it was blank. Giles had sent it

anyway, either an oversight, or a sincere attempt to provide something useful. Wesley'd never established a rapport sufficient enough to keep a _journal_. He took notes. He'd sent reports. Case files. Nothing personal in them.

He stretched his hand out for the best pen he had and sat himself down at the table in the dining room. This was for him. No one else would see it. _Ever._ It wouldn't be shown o the Council, no one would check his facts or correct his terminology.

He didn't write about the fight at first. Simply what he wanted to tell someone, and the only other person left in his life to tell had witnessed it.

Ink flowed onto the page.

* * *

_ Tonight I saved a human life... I didn't comprehend that at first. I tend to see the mistakes I make more clearly than my successes, after years of looking for the opposite, already having my failures constantly and violently illuminated for me by outside sources._

_ Tonight I saved a human life. My own feels as though it is being saved slowly, day by day, by one I once branded a ruthless killer incapable of saving. How odd that she is the one who pointed it out. How odd that she becomes half of my salvation. I sincerely hope to become a small part of hers._

* * *

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Chapters may be shorter and scarcer as I go on double duty in my professional life until mid-December. Please keep reading and reviewing, your encouragement means a lot to me and keeps me going. I still hope to update every few weeks. If you're a fan of mine, you should know the no piece ever goes unfinished, even if it's awhile between posts._

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Cavemenftw, Jewel74, Illusera, The-Darkness-Befalls, Lou, Bookwarnedbookwarm, Austexfan, and Alkeni._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XVII**

_Mask_

"C'mon out, you little undead bastards. I'm playing nice tonight..." Faith's wheedling whisper rang in empty allies and clean shadows. "Damn."

"What?" Wesley looked around them. There was nothing to complain about. Two uneventful sweeps and nothing but weather reports, civic concerns, financial updates, and cheerful news on the local radio. An all around success.

_Unless you're Faith._ "There's nothing to kill." She jammed her hands in her pockets and looked sullen and edgy. Inside the denim her hands flexed.

"Only because you killed them all already." Wesley pointed out reasonably.

"Or they're hiding. C'mon! I'll give you the first punch, on the house!" Faith shouted into the empty cemetery, where silent rows of white and gray stone made no answer.

"I don't think vampires can typically cover their tracks so well for three consecutive nights. Not all vampires in a single city, not for three nights in a row. They _do_ need to feed. And this isn't a Hellmouth. Demons in metropolises tend to be wary of overcrowding, arousing too much suspicion. You honestly may have wiped out the current demon population. If you haven't killed them all, you've at least driven them out. Word surely would spread that slayer, or at least a skilled hunter was in the area. I imagine any threatening demon left standing would have fled the city."

"So what are you saying, Wes?" She scoffed. "This is it? I stand up in my superhero tightie-whities, all with the 'Thank you, citizens, our work here is done?' Roll credits?"

"It _has_ been nearly a month, over twenty days of concentrated patrols. Your work here _may_ be done. That doesn't mean we have to leave. I could tell Mr. Hanson we want to stay for November as well. He's already allowing us to stay until the first, he hasn't rented to the next tenant yet." He knew she wouldn't take the offer. It was the momentary pause he liked to watch. Each split second she delayed in shooting him down was another second he counted in their favor. _She's learning not to run away. Simply to move on. _

_ Don't I sound so terribly wise? Hard to believe I'm the one left the cardboard circle under the frozen pizza when I put it in the oven last night... _He waited for her reply with a self-mocking smile.

Faith hesitated, longer than she liked to admit. _Aside from the butt ugly house- it's not a bad place. The guys aren't too mouthy, the prices are cheap, it's warm through the winter._ A tug inside, for something more permanent beckoned her, but she had long ago learned permanent things don't live up to the name. "Hell no. I am _out _of here. One more week in that house and I'd start going gray and knitting stuff. It's a granny shack. Next time I'm picking some place where the hot young things can hang, y'know?"

"I've no idea, and it's actually my turn to pick."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't!"

"I'm not arguing with you."

"Then I'm gonna win."

"Shall we have a nightcap?" Alcohol trumped futility.

"What the hell. Let's got to Clay's. I have free beer for life there."

"Do I want to know how you earned that privilege?"

"Not really." _It wasn't anything dirty this time. It was for breaking the tips in a night record held by the bartenders. Okay, so how I got them was ... suggestive. Not dirty. I'm really slipping there._

_ Can you catch "nice" ? Is there a cure?_

* * *

"Am I in a time warp? It's noon- and you're in the living room." Faith pointed out.

"I just came back. The last manual has been sent, the newest batch of textbooks has been assigned and accepted, and I've had a skim through one of them. The rest are 'downloaded', I think the term is, and saved as files so I can start typing whenever I like."

_But he's not typing. Weirding me out._ "Yeah, Wes. Go you."

"I thought I'd pack the books."

"Oh. Yeah." _It's time to get ready to go. Good. Going before the crap catches up to me, always good._ "I'll get the kitchen stuff."

"I thought you could look into what city you'd like next. I'll pick the apartment- you pick the town?"

"No."

"I'll get you a muffin?"

"That's a lame ass bribe."

"How about this?" He opened his satchel and removed a huge bag of Starbursts.

"Holy crap!" Faith rushed forward, momentarily forgetting to act like the streetwise sexbomb in the presence of an abundance of her go to treat.

"Ah-ah-ah." He refused to part with it. "Do we have a deal?"

"Are you gonna take it back if we don't? Seriously?"

Obviously not. He looked pained, torn between honesty and leverage. "I wouldn't waste it... I know these are you favorites, so I-"

"It's a deal!" She crowed and seized the bag. "This is a three pound bag!"

"It's Halloween tomorrow. Trick or treaters. This is the size to feed the neighborhood- or give one slayer a sugar high that is truly terrifying to behold." He teased. She was too busy tearing open the bag to do more than glare. "I thought you'd like to look up some information on the various major cities in the area of your choice and then you could-"

"Look up? Like at the library? I don't do libraries." _Learned_ that _the hard way._

"There's a coffee shop that's put in computer stations and started to offer internet access with your purchase." He explained with a smile.

"Caffeine and sugar? Got a death wish, Wes?"

"My thrill seeking knows no bounds."

* * *

"Oh! That's beautiful! Oh, we must do that! Rather, _I _must do that, I think you'd be bored and when you're bored things tend to go wrong."

"_Now_ who can't keep their voice down?" Faith leaned over from her computer to peer at Wesley's newspaper. "What are you freaking about?"

"Just checking the daily reports- we still seem to be holding our own. Nothing untoward in today's edition. I spotted this." He held out a full page ad, covered in photographs and dripping gothic block. "A Civil War era estate- one that somehow survived Sherman's March to the Sea, is on the outskirts of Atlanta and they host a 'Halloween Haunted House Tour'. As well as other events, but-"

"Back up. You were right on this being a 'you thing' not a 'we thing'." Faith held up a restraining hand.

"I've seen more of this country in four months than many people do in a life time- and I'm beginning to chafe that I'm missing out on some of the sights. Now that things have- settled." _And it's safe for me to leave her alone, we're not in dire straits, we both work hard- we deserve a few hours off here and there._ "Halloween is typically a time when demons don't bother humans. And it'll be our last evening in the city." He pointed out.

"So go. I won't tease you too much. Unless you have to dress up like some Civil War stud to get in." She chuckled and turned back to the screen. "So- three dismemberings in three months in this city in Florida. Do we think serial killer or demon worth pulping?"

_So much for a night off. _ Wesley straightened his glasses and squinted at the screen. "Hmm. Let me see."

* * *

"Hey, Wes? Is this your shindig?" Faith asked, mouth full of take out Chinese, scarfing straight from the container. They ordered in, as they were leaving the day after tomorrow, and weren't buying new supplies to replace those they'd eaten.

Wesley, carrying his own food nicely arranged on a plate, left the table and joined her in the living room in front of the television.

A blonde, smiling reporter was standing outside a lavishly decorated mansion beside a couple in elegant nineteenth century dress, apparently in mid-sentence. "- is underway for tomorrow's festivities. Local historians- in period costume, will be giving a tour of the premises, while the ballroom is opened for dancing until dawn with members of the Atlanta Symphonic Rep during cocktail hour, followed by some of the areas hottest DJs. All proceeds benefit the Historical Society and the -"

"She was still speaking!" Wesley looked hurt as the television abruptly turned off.

"You were starting to drool. I'm pretty sure water damage on the appliances isn't covered by the security deposit."

"He never charged us one. He really is a nice fellow. Salt of the earth type, I imagine."

"He's a sucker and one day he's gonna get scammed." Faith tossed the remote to him, and he caught it, one hand still balancing his plate, reflexes much improved since the night she'd tossed him her new fake ID. "You wanna watch the rest of the news, go for it."

"There was nothing of any importance. Just the city gearing up for a festival." He sighed. "Laissez le bon temps rouler."

Faith's eyebrows crested. "What now?"

"French for 'Let the good times roll.' It was on the ad in the paper. A term more commonly used in parts of the world where there was a strong French influence, I believe. Most notably in the French-Creole areas of the south, associated with Mardi Gras." He paused, skewered by her skeptical, laughing eyes. "I'm rambling?"

"You're rambling." She nodded. "You can go, you know. Tour. Touch historical goodies. I'll hand out candy to any parent stupid enough to let their kids trick or treat in this neighborhood."

"I imagine it's the one night it's safe for them to do so. More so now." He sat on the couch next to her, and picked at his food.

"You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"I do not!" Wesley protested, trying to quickly look less like he was about to sulk. _It's not a bloody sight seeing tour. This is about saving her. Saving lives. What would you even wear to a dance? _

_Well... there is my suit._

_ It's Halloween. _

_ I don't care, I'm not going. I said it was a 'me' thing, but in our free time, I- _He trailed off, concluding silently,_ I prefer spending my night to relax with her. At least sometimes._ "I think I'll turn in early." He said, trying to sound cheerful. "Have you got a shift tonight?"

"I have a standing offer at Clay's. I thought I'd go. Get us some gas money."

"Good idea."

Silence. Television clicked on. Clicked off.

"You gonna go?"

"Perhaps." _I do want to. It just... feels odd not to include her. It is a celebratory night for us in a way. Although- dear God. Faith in a home full of Antebellum antiques!_ "I imagine the bar will be busy tomorrow night as well."

"There's bobbing for for hard apple cider. I might ask Clay if I can be a bouncer tomorrow instead of making the drinks."

He chuckled. "Sounds like jolly good fun."

She blinked. _He doesn't do fun. Not my kinda fun. _

_ I don't do his. His idea of fun is sooo boring. Mine just makes him wince a lot. He oughta loosen up._

"Why don't you come down? They've got darts. You'd be a real shark at that."

"No... I should start annotating the translation I'm working on."

"Suit yourself."

* * *

"Can you give me a little something extra with that glass, Sugar?"

"Another shot's still gonna cost you." Faith poured in a second measure and winked.

"I wasn't lookin' for that. More like your number." A handsome tanned man with tattooed arms and a slight touch of the South in his voice suggested.

"I don't give my number."

"Not even for your biggest tipper?" A fifty dollar bill slid under the napkin, an invitation to take the tip and write the number. Possibly only in quid pro quo arrangement.

"Dude, buncha numbers are _not_ worth that much green." Faith slid it back, her eyes hardening. Cute but stupid.

_Dammit. If I start liking smart guys I'm gonna jump off a bridge._ Smart was associated with Wes. _Great. Suddenly thinking about him. This is where I come to get away from him, and now I compare my customers to him? And I pass up a fifty? A lot of ripples here that we're not gonna get into when I'm serving drinks. _

"My money not good enough for you?" He fluttered the bill as she moved past him.

"No, money's money. Just letting you know-" She smiled and moved onto another customer, "you aren't 'getting what you pay for'." A final saucy wink and she left yet another would be hook up aching, not making any impression.

"You're a real heartbreaker." Her next customer smiled drunkenly.

"More like 'heart impaler', but whatever works for ya." Faith took his order and made her way to the far end of the bar for the ingredients she needed.

"You're gonna be the trick _and _the treat tomorrow night, aren't you?" Clay chuckled and let her get past him.

"I might not stay too long. Is that cool?"

"Sure thing. You gotta hot date?"

"More like an incredibly boring one."

"Is he a nice guy?"

Her hand slipped on a bottle, but she caught it with deft fingers and a twirl like the neck was a thick stake. Someone clapped and she smirked. "He's really nice."

"You don't strike me as the 'nice guy' type."

"I'm not. This is- strictly a favor for a friend." _He's the friend. And maybe the date. Not as in date, as in- fuck, Faith, just shut up! Mix drinks, make money. Simple._

"Lucky friend. Lucky fella."

"Kinda think he's gonna disagree with you." Faith laughed to herself.

* * *

"Can you do me a favor tonight?"

Wesley nearly dropped the dishes he was boxing up, the last box to go. All that was left in the house was their bedding, toiletries, and clothes. "Of course."

"Take yourself to that stupid fancy ass house and get your tourist on."

"But- honestly, I don't really enjoy large parties."

"Then go for the tour part, ditch the party." She shrugged. They carried boxes out of the house, down the porch steps to the rapidly filling car.

"Why are you insisting?" He queried.

_Because you don't have fun. Because you work your ass off. Because- _dude._ He _never_ gets a break. Think about it. Work all day. Patrol half the night. Sleep. Eat. Repeat. At least I like my job_. "Do you like translating?"

"What?"

"Your job. Your day job. Which is also your any time you're not helping me job. The one you earn money for. Do you like it?"

"Yes! It's quite simple, if time-consuming." _Falls neatly into place, provides well, if not abundantly. A touch of order in the storm that covers her, covers me for being near her. _

"Man, y'know, that's _just_ what I was saying the last time I got wasted and rocked out. 'This was easy but time consuming. Dude, let's do this every night!'." She mocked.

"I didn't say _easy_, I said simple. It's quite challenging at times, but I enjoy challenges." He grunted and shoved a box in the trunk.

_He'd have to, look who he decided to work with._ Faith rolled her eyes as they shifted boxes around. By now the car packing was becoming an art form. "I'm glad you like it. You were all whiney the other day about how you never get to see the sights."

"I didn't whine!"

"You started to."

"Everything spoken with a hint of longing is_ not_ whining!"

"Hey, if you're happy with your nose on a book or a screen every spare second, cool. I was- I don't know what I was. I gotta get ready. See ya." _I suck at nice. And subtle. Maybe if I had pushed him down the stupid creaky stairs, sat on his chest and said, "You. Me. Go." It would have worked. But no point telling him I would go with him, if he's not even interested in going._

* * *

She came downstairs in a shirt she'd bought last week. Red and black slashes of something tight and lycra soft, cutting off an inch or two above hipster jeans and her black boots. Her hair spilled out in loose wet curls, and the sleeves were absent, replaced by two pieces of fabric that tangled with the black of her bra straps.

* * *

He turned from the living room windows. White shirt. Navy trousers. Polished shoes. No jacket. No tie. Collar undone and a few buttons under it as well. "I thought I might-" Wesley stopped speaking abruptly. His mind stopped working in sympathy. The eloquent man couldn't make sentences, only single words in a string to describe what he saw._ Night. Flames. Fiery. Beautiful. _

"Hey, Stud." She sauntered up to him. "That works on you. Without the three piece look."

"I wasn't done." He replied in an odd monotone, eyes riveted to her.

"You should be. Gonna get all those debutantes in their hoop skirts asking you to bust them out of their corsets." She smacked his hands away from the buttons, leaving the top three undone.

"I-"

"You know you want to."

"Not really. But- you." He blinked and reclaimed speech. "You'll be the belle of Clay's soiree."

"No poetry. And no belle."

"A coincidence. The poetry, that is. But you do look lovely. New outfit?"

"Just the top." She sized him up. "So- you are going?"

"I thought I'd come to Clay's." Wesley said.

"In _that_?"

"You did say he was having a party."

"Wes- partying in bars means wearing things you don't mind someone puking on."

"Then- why are you wearing your new top?" He sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Big tips." She smoothed her hands over the skin tight fabric. "Slayer reflexes. I can avoid the puke."

"Well... perhaps I'd better change then."

"Better idea." He'd given her something to work with, a lead in, an opening. _So I only look like I'm being kinda nice. I can do that._ "You go do your swanky thing, I'll go do happy hour. Meet you when the party starts in Gone With the Wind World?"

"Oh! Splendid." _We just compromised. It wasn't even painful._ "That would work out well. We deserve a few moments to relax." Wesley prattled, following Faith as she left the room. "Although, I don't know the itinerary for the evening. I'm not sure when the party begins."

"It starts when I get there." She smiled cockily.

* * *

The place was lit up. People in all manner of gowns and costumes paraded in, news crews filmed, children giggled, and music swelled.

Faith stood at the edge of the long looping driveway. I've crashed parties before. This isn't even crashing. This is open to the public with your 'donation' to whatever it was. The stack of fives, tens, and twenties stuffed into every pocket would be enough to get in and pay for anything she broke while she was there. Breaking something here was highly likely.

_Big house. Biiiig house. Fancy house. Full of fancy things and fancy people. _Anger, irrational or not, bubbled up, and she wet it down with one last swig of the hard cider she'd won, before hurling the bottle into the topiary shrubs.

_Not for me. What am I doing here? Why am I anywhere?_

_Fuck this. I said I didn't want to go around killing humans, I didn't say I'd turn into slayer-rella. Not. _My. _Scene._

She turned and walked away.

* * *

Wesley loved the place. The antiques. The architecture. The old maps showing plantation boundaries and Confederate supply lines. He loved talking to someone who didn't interrupt him with a beer-scented belch when he began to wax lyrical about anything besides a weapon. He loved the intelligent conversation, not that Faith wasn't intelligent, she- simply didn't converse on some of the topics he found enjoyable.

Then the party began, and it got lonely. He got quiet. Withdrawn.

_Look at this whirl of beauty and laughter. And thumping music. Why must it thump? _He rubbed his temple and slipped further from the action.

He was always awkward, a wallflower. He had two settings. Pompous and broadcasting his knowledge. Shy, desperate, and inadequate. Moments of crisis allowed him to merge both into something he found more palatable, smart and eager, honest and willing.

_Faith is the only one who gives me any middle ground. Not even middle ground- new ground. _

_ Or at least, around her I remember who I wanted to be. Braver, more confident, more worthy of- of _everything_. _

_Worthy of _real _things. Not _these_ things. All gilt edges and pretty birds in cages. _He gave the mansion a single, stark look before he strolled out of the ballroom, leaving the place filled with bodies, though it suddenly seemed empty.

* * *

_You can do this. He's waiting for you. You gonna let him down? _Faith had left- and come back. Left again. Come back again. Stayed, but not entered, finding a way to be on the sidelines without being involved. She had plenty of practice.

Her eyes studied every piece of the place from a hundred yards away, working up her nerve, until-

* * *

"Are you leaving?" Faith's voice made him jump and skid in the white stone gravel.

"What in heavens name are you doing out here? Were you in the gardens? That area had a big 'Closed to the Public' sign." Wesley took hold of her arm with a gasp, furtively glancing around before they stepped behind a parked catering van.

"Lifts right up, too." Faith smirked. "Walked right under it."

"Why didn't you come in?"

"Why did you come out?"

_Difficult things to explain. On both counts I suspect. _ "Hrm. Would you like some punch? There's some on the veranda."

"Is that the fancy ass punch bowl?"

"No," he smiled, "it's the fancy ass porch."

* * *

He sipped. She drained. He stood. She swayed. "Decent music for this kind of party." Faith's shoulders slid and waved, hair tossed from shoulder to shoulder, hands going high as the pulse of the music sped up.

"Mhm. A bit- throbbing, though." He took the cup from her hand and put it on the tray of a passing waiter.

"It's _supposed_ to throb. It's body noise." Faith said loudly, over the rising clamor. He still stood there. Still. "Dude, don't you dance?"

"Not like this!" He yelled back.

"Want me to teach you?"

"Is that even possible?"

"Yeah!" _He deals with impossibles- so can I_. "C'mon! You like it when I dance with you."

_When have we ever danced together?_ He wanted to ask, but then he remembered. _Her first patrol. _Our_ first patrol_. Her seduction of her prey- and possibly of him. Dancing together- not so much, but dancing _with_ her- yes, he supposed so. She entranced him. He felt like every move she made moved him too, in a tense juxtaposition with the way she also riveted him motionless except for a rapidly beating heart. "One dance." He allowed himself.

* * *

She claimed a spot by the wall. He immediately started to point, "Oh, Faith. If you'll look up, you'll notice the-"

"No architecture lessons." She shouted over the hum of music and crush of laughing people. _I'm not here for that- I'm here for the guy. The nice guy. Holy crap, it's a miracle. Or voodoo._

"Halloween is supposed to be magical, right?" Faith grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to a half-arm's length. She began to stomp and sway as she spoke, and he- didn't.

_Thank God for conversation._ "Magical? I suppose. A pagan experience at any rate."

"Pagan?" The hand moved from cuff to elbow, making him at least start a slow rocking in place as he lectured.

"Ah- well- to honor the end of the harvest and usher in the darkest times- a relation to death that demons have encouraged. This is their night to rest in preparation. I imagine they also have come to realize adults and children are "Fattened up" after this evening."

The swaying stopped. Faith frowned. "Seriously? But we're leaving tomorrow..."

"You've rid the town of most demons. The late Mrs. Hanson would be proud of you. _I'm_ proud of you."

Warmth. Fluttering. Squash it down, bounce it back. She tossed her hair and tried a careless smirk. "Ditto, Wes."

_She's proud of me_. Dancing suddenly seemed not only easy but entirely appropriate.

He wasn't very good. Stiff, like the robot, but without the intent. She laughed helplessly and dragged him back further into the recesses of the ballroom.

"Is my celebratory style not the ticket?" He laughed at himself, gently, for once not with bitterness, not with pain.

"Celebrating this good old pagan witchcraft?"

"No." He stared into her eyes.

_ Damn. If stuff I say - I mean, look who I am! _

_ Nothing. Always nothing, at least to people like him. Well, nothing but trouble, nothing good. And that's cool with me. Still. This sap cares what "nothing" says?_

"People really treated you like crap, huh?" Faith asked softly. "I know what that's like."

"What? Oh. No. N-not all of them. Only a few." _The important ones. My father. My slayers. Their esteemed Watcher. The Head of Council, who I desperately wanted to emulate. A list of others... _"Most were polite enough. They respected the work I did. Or tried to do. Who my father was." _Not nice to me. Nice to my attributes._ He smiled suddenly, the creeping sadness vanishing. _When Faith does something nice I know wholeheartedly it's because she bloody well wants to, and she doesn't give a damn about any of those trappings. Just... me._

The corners and vaulted sides of the packed room glowed orange with candle filled Jack-o-lanterns. For a second, in the golden shadows, Faith swore his smile rivaled the width of the cut out grins on the decorations around them. "What was in that punch?" She laughed, pointing at his face.

Wesley self consciously ran a hand over his jaw, clean shaven tonight, but harder every day as long hours took their toll. "Not the punch. You-"

"Are gonna be wicked busy tomorrow, right?" Faith cut him off. He was about to praise her. No, not that. Say she made him smile. Just by talking to him, giving him two words. A new kind of power for her and it made her stomach tense. Shields raised to deflect, as they usually were. "All that driving. Hanson is coming first thing in the morning, didn't you say that earlier?"

"He said around eight to collect the keys." He played along, learning her conversational dance more easily than he was learning her physical one.

"You sure you like that place I told you about? Near Tallahassee?"

"I don't know that I 'like' any place where multiple dismemberings occur, but I certainly think it's a place you should visit. People need your help."

"Shit for the people. I just wanna go where it's warm. We could go West. Or back up to North Carolina. I once worked in this really awesome dive bar there- that I can't go back to." She considered. "So Florida it is."

Wesley looked momentarily confused, lips pursing, then collapsing as he tried to pick a thread of conversation to follow. Faith hid her smile under a sultry thrash of her neck and the depths of her thick mane, hands caressing her torso. _Still able to bluff the guy, distract him. _

"Wherever you think best." He nodded graciously.

The smile, hidden or not, erased. A look of seriousness stole across her face, the good hunter, always trying to learn her surroundings. She'd thought for sure she knew him, and now- _I don't know. I guess I know the new him. The dude who just rolls with it- but it must bust his orderly little mind in all sorts of ways._

The thought of a Wes out of control was suddenly very _enticing_.

Wesley watched her step closer. Closer. Until he could _feel_ her. He gave her a crooked grin. "Faith. This isn't a slow dance. This is Monster Mash."

"It is? Cool. We mashed a lot of monsters." She grinned widely, blood red lips shimmering.

"You have a bewitching smile." Wesley heard himself saying, and suddenly the said smile was softer, smaller, but even sweeter._ Artless. Real. _His own mirrored hers.

_He's cute when he smiles, but when he looks serious- not the stuck up jerk kind of serious- damn, baby... where'd that nerd in a tie go? _

He wondered something similar._ That siren hides - something. I don't know what. Something natural. She thinks she has to put on a front to entice, when the truth is, all of her, contrived or true, would lure a man onto the rocks..._

She pulled his arms, and they spun, no one leading, both half falling across a sea of black and orange crepe and through dark French doors to a deserted little parapet.

_Her face changing yet again, muted sensuality, something beautiful and scarred daring to look at me...All kind of masks around us, and ours are slowly fading into what our real faces are. Who we are. Who we want to be._

She felt it. The fatal slip. Self-preservation reared with a tight gasp, a step back. "C'mon, Wes. it's getting late. Lotta driving tomorrow."

"One more dance." His lips twitched slightly, and he caught hold of her wrist.

_He said only one, now he wants more? What the hell happened? _

His fingers slid along the pulse point at her wrist and she had her answer.

_Sparks. Sparks happened. _

"Okay."

* * *

Neither of them remembered what the song was.

She remembered foreheads collided, and they moved with arms tangled, in rhythm, yet out of step together.

She remembered she kissed him at the end of it, long and deep. A kiss goodnight. A kiss goodbye.

_We wear the masks every day but Halloween. Vamps and vamp killers- it's everyone's night off in this bad ol' club..._

He kissed her lingeringly, longingly. _Oh yes._ He longed for this. A woman who wanted him, and whom he wanted.

_She hasn't arrived yet. Nor have I._

Faith felt this slipping into a dangerously dark and comforting well. Down into the place where things shuddered deep inside, where liquid heat was made, and something inside begged her to make it hurt until she forgot if pain was good or bad. Let herself do anything, with anyone, as long as she didn't have to think.

He inhaled and pulled back.

"Wes..." _I want that feeling._

_ Shit. I don't want him to be the one to give it to me. 'Cause he can't hurt me. Won't hurt me. I won't hurt him either... _

When was the last time she kissed a man and wanted to hold him close- not for the sex, but for the man? To hear her own voice say something sweet and soft- so unfamiliar her brain stalled and guiltily admitted she didn't know any of those words or when to say them.

She kept her distance with an effort.

"Happy Halloween. To the belle of the ball." He whispered.

"To the best costumes." She said a little louder.

Blue eyes met brown, both black in the night, both knowing all too well what she meant.

"We do have a long day tomorrow." He said regretfully. Regretful in so many ways, some noble, some negligent, but both would evaporate if she would smile at him again. "May I take you home?" He offered his elbow.

_The Wes version of take me home. Come home because you want to, you need to, and most of all- you like what you have when you get there. You like who you're with. You like who you are with him. _ She smiled widely, arm slipping through his and locking around it tightly. "You better. You have the keys, Dude."

* * *

Daylight came and the inhabitants of the city pulled off their fantasy faces and packed away their masks for another year.

Inside a car speeding south, two people slipped their masks, cracking and fading, back in place, and wondered if they'd ever be fully free of them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: I don't even know how to describe this chapter, except to say I hope you like it. _

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Cavemenftw, Jewel74, Illusera, Sirius120, The-Darkness-Befalls, Storm Warning, Lou, Ginevra-Lillian-Lily, Bookwarnedbookwarm, and Austexfan._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XVIII**

_Underneath_

"This is decidedly not a friendly area." Wesley said tensely. His eyes scanned the backwater town's streets, dark and crowded with hunching buildings wearing peeling paint. The atmosphere, even in the sunny Florida climate, was chilly and unwelcoming.

"Demons love joints like this." Faith was enthusiastic, gripping the wheel and bouncing along to Ozzy in her jeans and scuffed boots, shoulders bare and turning tan under thin black straps. "Probably was nice enough until whatever nasty came around."

"There is the theory that demons look for cities large enough and permissive enough that strange behaviors and appearances go unnoticed or are dismissed."

"This is so not a large city." Faith laughed.

"The second part of the theory is that they look for places already in disrepair and sinking into human evil- crime, slothfulness, corruption, greed- so that the added evil they bring is only one more ripple in a pond. Then they feed or take what the need until the townspeople vacate, fight back, or until the demon itself has exhausted the supply of whatever it was after."

"Great theory, Wes. Now- where are we staying?"

"I regret insisting on this now." He grumbled, looking around again. There were no nice, quietly upscale areas, even in the rough parts of town. The entire town seemed like a rough part. They'd seen two places where housing might be offered. One bore the sign, "Clean rooms, $35." and the other made no such boast. "I suppose you'll be happy with either establishment?"

Faith shrugged. "No happy about it." _Happy isn't about the place anymore. Not really. _"Used to it maybe."

"I suppose. Alright, let's go back to the place with the clean rooms."

"At $35 a night?"

"I'll see what their weekly rates are. And if they have apartments, or just single rooms like a hotel. That - that's not in our budget." It was. Or rather, it could have been, if he wanted to spend every penny. But the thought of separating so much, feeling like two guests in a building rather than flatmates or even- some strange version of friends -in their own place? That was out of the mental budget. _I don't want to slide back, I want us to go forward._

"I can talk 'em down." Faith grinned confidently. "Always have before."

"I know. Very worrying." Wesley mumbled distractedly. "That library seems awfully small."

"It's not a big city."

"Very industrial." Factories on one side, faded industries everywhere, and just a pervasive chill throughout, despite the humid air. The eyes they met were hard and unfriendly, even through windows and pavement.

"You look like you swallowed an entire lemon." Faith elbowed him suddenly.

"I've never been somewhere like this." He answered, absently rubbing his arm.

"The place where no one wants you?" She laughed. "Don't worry. I'll show you around."

* * *

"We got rooms by the week. Not month. But you can stay a month. Not exactly turning people away at the door." A faded woman spoke to them. Greeted or welcomed were not the right words. She merely answered questions and made flat edged statements.

"We were hoping perhaps you could give us a slight reduction, as we're buying in bulk, so to speak." Wesley pressed in his most disarming voice.

Faded cornflower eyes under dust-blonde hair simply stared. Faith sighed and moved him out of the way with a bump of her pelvis to his side.

"$500 if you have a two bedroom." She planted herself in front of the proprietor.

She hesitated. "I don't think I-"

"You get many tourists?"

"Five hundred, up front." The lady made an ultimatum. Wesley paid, and she pointed. "The back bungalow. Number nine. Watch out for snakes."

"Snakes?" Wesley gaped.

"Nothing is going to bite your bony ankle." Faith dragged him along.

"Snakes!" Wesley hissed, scanning the ground. "Faith, I-"

"It's humid. It's like the frickin' Everglades. There might be snakes. You're an eagle eye, you'll drive an arrow into his tiny little skull, okay?" Faith shrugged and kept walking. "Be glad we got a place. Stepford wife didn't seem too happy to see us."

"Do you think she's evil?"

Faith shook her head. "Nope. A survivor. Keep your head down, one foot in front of the other." She didn't look at him as she explained. "Your conversational skills will suck, but you can live through a lot."

"I see." He did.

* * *

The white bungalows were in a row, sinking into a tangle of lush greenery. A mildewed pair of chairs sat outside each peeling green door with crooked brass numbers affixed under a cracked peephole. Faith unlocked the door and strode in, straight to the windows. "Phew!"

"Rising damp." Wesley joined her in locating every available source of air to mitigate the odor. "I don't know when this place was last used."

"May." Faith held up a newspaper left folded on top of the television. "Damn."

"What?"

" He didn't leave any smokes." Faith tossed the paper back. "Clean rooms my ass."

"To be fair- everything is clean- just musty." He ran a finger along the windowsill and it came up spotless. "They must come in, vacuum and wipe down the surfaces and leave. Without opening the windows. I don't know how they stand it."

"Like I said. Survival."

"So you did." _Best to make the best of it._ "If we had an airing cupboard, we-"

"A what?"

"See if you can find a hair dryer. If not- I'll find a laundromat."

* * *

_This is tiring. Doing this every month. Learning a new set of roads, a new address, a new route. _

The places they picked out automatically now, and pointed to with their chins as they drove.

"Grocery store."

"Chinese."

"Bar."

"Library."

"Gas station."

"Cemetery."

"Laundry- there!"

Patterns began, in a humid, green and white square. They shopped, and brought in groceries, they figured out the small fridge was temperamental and worked if you wedged it directly back to the outlet. The fridge was in league with the stove, where only one of two burners worked.

The librarian was shocked to have a regular patron, the barflies were shocked to see new blood. Wesley cursed slow internet speeds, and Faith cursed that "head down, just get through it" attitude that gave her almost no openings in the next three days. No flirting, no buying of drinks, and no job offers.

As in every other town- some things seemed new. This town was one they chose, especially, specifically. Not running away, stopping in exhaustion, nor a simple choice of a certain number of hours in the car. The place needed help.

_Help. Right. They got a broken soldier and a guy who wishes he could iron his socks. Some help._

* * *

"Wes?" The door slammed. _Home is the wannabe hero._

"What?" His voice was a near shout, a grumpy tone she had never heard.

"What's got your panties in a knot?" Faith stepped out of her room and was instantly in the shared space of living room and dining nook where her angry cohabiter was standing.

Wesley looked at her from under streaming hair and a dripping nose. "It's raining. Again."

"It rains in England all the time. I think? Or is that a stereotype, like the roast beef?"

"Yes. It does rain in England. But not like this. Every day at four. For a bloody hour. The humidity just can't take it in those great big black clouds, and out it comes!" He threw down a sodden newspaper, and yanked off his satchel.

"Tea?" Faith tried not to laugh.

"For the love of God, tea." He agreed, and stomped off in search of a towel.

* * *

"It dries up, you know. The thing where it rains every afternoon. By December, it'll be dry. This is the last of that sticky summer humidity. We're in hurricane alley." Faith handed the dry man a teacup. He took it, passed her, and went to the kitchen to get himself a saucer and one of his good spoons.

"I suppose."

"Dude. You know I can't do this cheering people up shit. You have about two more minutes to man up, or I'll kick your nuts to make sure they're still there." Faith got herself a coke and sprawled across the recliner.

Wesley took a seat at the table, cup poised neatly at lips, saucer never wobbling. "Very well. I've 'manned up'. I will drink my tea in masculine silence."

That didn't suit them any better. Silence didn't seem companionable. It seemed to be- waiting.

"Man, there is some _vibe_ with this place!" Faith crushed her can and sprang restlessly off her chair, unable to take it anymore.

"You're right." Wesley stretched and sipped before rising as well, sparing himself a moment to recall that this was once the girl who refused to speak to him, who claimed to hate speaking to him. Now she shared so many thoughts._ A team. And the team must play its match._ "I have some ideas about that. I'll look up a few things. Why don't you go down to the local watering hole and do what it is you do?"

"Because no one's biting." Faith smiled bitterly. "Vamps or otherwise."

Wesley blinked. "Dear. Now that_ is _troubling."

She almost blushed, or at least some kind of heat suffused her neck and cheeks. One quiet validation from him about her vixen abilities was way better than a million wolf whistles.

She tossed her hair, told the warm fuzzies to take a hike. "It's dead out there. Whatever it is, only gets hungry once a month. I'm gonna hang in here until the rain stops."

"Make yourself useful." Wesley handed her a large book.

"What?" Faith held it uneasily.

"_Rhinehardt's Compendium_. Very rare. Try not to spill anything on it."

"I don't do books. I do killing."

"Slaying." He corrected.

A sudden locking of eyes.

"Fine." She conceded with a rough nod. "I still don't do books."

"Fine." He held out his hand, wordlessly asking for it back.

The book hovered between them. "I don't know what I'd look for. I don't - I don't study." His mouth opened, his eyes went a shade happier, but she stomped the fire out. "Don't. Don't go into the 'but you're smart, you could do it' speech. I just don't do books."

"I don't do bungalows in snake infested towns where monthly eviscerations occur, but here I am." Wesley pointed out, giving her a meaningful stare over his glasses.

"This can't become some karate kid moment. Where you call me grasshopper and tell me how I have much to learn." Faith kept hold of the book with a frown and a sigh.

Wesley dropped his hand, puzzled. "I can honestly say I have no idea what you're talking about. Your fighting style is far superior to mine, even if it's undisciplined and doesn't exactly fit into one particular branch of martial arts. I wouldn't call you a child. Nor would I call you an insect." He assured gently, though still confused.

She swallowed a laugh under a huff of annoyance. "We so have to find a place with a VCR and a Blockbuster." Faith slung herself on the sofa. "Tell me what I'm looking for."

* * *

"I have no idea what to look for." Wesley mumbled heavily an hour or so later. To himself.

But Slayers have that dratted superior hearing, he recalled as Faith's head jerked up.

"_What_?" Faith growled. A book went hurtling to the floor, and she fairly charged across the room, ending up in a crouch inches from his seated form, brown eyes furious and exasperated. "You've had me looking at random pages of God knows what for an _hour_, and now you don't even know what the fuck we're looking for? What the hell was I doing then?"

Wesley backed up in his seat, watching Faith's fingers clench and indent the frame of the chair. He heard a slight creak as the wood complained under her grip. "Well..."

"Talk faster, Wes." Faith snarled.

"I did have us searching for demons known to dismember victims-"

"And that's wrong now? How is that wrong? And why the hell didn't you tell me? I made a _list_, Wes! I folded down page corners!" _In four months, he made me do what ten years of school couldn't..._

He leaned forward now, pushing past her quickly enough to temporarily stun her into letting him pass. "You dogeared my _Compendiu_m!? My _Reinhardt's Compendium_! I told you it was rare!" He rushed to the book and cradled it, hurriedly reaching for marked pages, smoothing them out. "You'll hurt the pages, soon they'll lose corners, then the structural integrity of the pages will be destroyed, and these aren't exactly available at the local library! Oh goodness, there. There." Wesley smoothed out the folds, the image of a tizzied librarian, almost clucking over his mistreated volume.

Faith stared. "You need a woman, Wes. Or a dog. Something you can pet. That was scary." She crossed her arms and tried not to laugh at the sudden awkwardness he showed as put the book down.

The he turned and stared at her head on, though his eyes were flickering a little. "And you charging at me like a mad bull was ever so calming. Wesley muttered. Then he sighed. "Pardon my lack of specificity, I didn't realize you were going to be overhearing everything I was saying."

"Hazard of living with someone with freak senses." She shrugged. He kept talking. She stopped listening. _Holy shit. Do you realize that? You live with someone. You _live_ with someone, like- not just crashing for a week. For _months_. Eating meals together, going places, laughing, helping, fighting, kissing, dancing, playing darts and watching the news, folding the laundry and making rent. _

_ How did this happen?_

_ How did I _let_ this happen? _

She felt a wave of realization induced nausea sweep across her, and her mind blanked, letting her ears come back online.

"-exactly how, then we don't know how to narrow it down. Is it ritualistic, was it simply a mass of carnage, or were certain pieces taken as food or trophies? All considerations that I can't take into account without further information." He sighed.

Faith blinked. "Huh?"

He thinned his lips for a moment. "I don't know exactly how or in what manner the monsters are dismembering people. That matters." He summed up.

"Oh. Uh- really? I mean, that's still not okay. Can't I just wait until it makes a move and pop a pointy wooden cap in its ass?"

"If you tried to stake a Cataphractos beast, known for eating humans, but only the torso, it would most likely break your stake. And your arm. Its hide is impenetrable. The only unarmored places on its body are the under arms and the nasal cavity."

"That just sounds nasty." Faith gave him a look of disgust.

"Indeed. Point being, we're flying blind and I'd like to get a better idea of what happened to the victims, so I could perhaps understand their killers."

"Don't look at me. I can't get a guy to buy me a beer in this town. No one's gonna start launching into vivid descriptions of 'Poor old Ralph, he was such a nice guy until something ripped his legs off'."

"Hm. I doubt if the locals as a whole know to begin with. Most likely the police and coroner's office have the pertinent details."

"Nah, some eyewitness found the bodies and told someone, then told someone else, you know the drill. They _know_. They just don't want to talk about it." She tossed her hair. "Kinda the theme in this town. Don't talk about it."

_She should know. Come to think of it- so should I. The facts and the rules, all I used to speak of. She speaks only of the needs of the moment, the obvious. Nothing underneath. Unless driven to it._ "If they knew of the threat, they might speak about it. But I imagine most people, if any, don't know the real reason. They might think it's a serial killer."

"Couldn't it be?"

"Yes. We're wasting time if it is."

"I can still take out a serial killer." Faith smiled. The smile faded as his eyes blinked at hers, mouth closing. _I could. I could kill humans. Did it before. More than once. Am I a serial killer? No. Just a murderer. I don't have enough style or enough crazy to make it a pattern. _

"I know you could. And the world might be a better place without them in it." Wesley said carefully. "But-"

"Yeah well-I wouldn't be better for doing it. Especially if I got the wrong guy or something. Courts can screw with all that red tape and give the guy the chair if they want. I don't do judge and jury if someone else can do it for me." She gave a falsely cocky smile. "Lazy like that."

"Not lazy at all. Simply targeted in your efforts, your purpose. You save innocents whose killers would otherwise walk free. Vampires aren't recognized by the court system." He smiled back, strained, but sincere.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." _I get it, let's get off this subject._ She twitched. "Maybe I could go get the patrolling on again. Or - hey, that shirt I wore for Halloween. I haven't tried that yet. Whaddya think, Wes? If I slut it up, can I loosen a few tongues?"

"I imagine you'd drown in drool." He said dryly. "I had another thought..."

* * *

"Then type in 'reprogrammable override'."

He scribbled with one hand, held the phone with the other. "Yes?"

"Use control, escape, and A to bring up the 'all access' screen, and hit show password. Write it down, and you should have the password currently in use."

"But what about a username? Is that the term?"

"Yes! Wesley, you're getting so good at this!"

"I'm not. Remember, I'm only taking notes, I haven't actually done anything yet." Wesley told the enthusiastic voice on the other end of the phone. "But I do thank you for all your time and effort in trying to teach me how to get into these state and local offices."

"You won't be in yet. You do need a username. And you'll have to log back out, get to the home screen and start step two."

Wesley looked at the three pages of paper he'd taken copious notes on. "That's only step one? How many steps are there?"

"Usually three. unless this method doesn't work. Then we have to do it the hard way."

"This is the easy way?" He put his head down on the table and his pad of paper. "Oh dear."

* * *

_Calling them again. We don't work for them. With them. There is no "them"_. Faith hurled a trashcan into a dumpster, not inside it, just against it, wanting to hear the metal scream. Because she hadn't screamed at him. He told her the idea- let's get some help from a hacker to learn how to hack into these sites and get the details. Real details, actual facts and figures. All the Mr. Priss back in his voice, through rims, like some wise owl, wiser than her, and she hated it. Hated him. For a second. _I'm better than them. I'm at least as _good _as them. _

_ No._

_ That hurt in those locked up places, and she ignored pains like that. She changed her reasoning. _

_ He doesn't need them. Don't start wanting them, want me, dammit, stay with _me _and- _her mind did one of those blanks again, and when her ears reverted to the actuality of the situation, Wes wasn't speaking, just waiting expectantly for her to agree- or by the nervous look on his face, waiting for her to blow.

She didn't. Her mouth and her shoulders worked a tandem of indifference. "Fine. You do your way, I'll try my way again. See ya." A shrug, a slam, and back into the damp night in a hot, damp, half-dead city.

Her way was hours and hours of wasting money that wasn't coming in right now, buying drinks and munching pretzels, pretending she actually loved football, so she could just stare at the screen and listen to people talking.

The people talking were useless. They hated the new coach. Loved the new quarterback. Thought pretzel sticks were better than twists, thought so and so should come off the DL soon, and so and so's truck needed a new trans.

She wanted to scream- _You're living with a monster in town. Do you care that one of you here is going to die this month? Chopped into little pieces, or big pieces, or eaten, and do you _care_? Are you stupid enough to pretend nothing's wrong or don't you know something is wrong?_

_ Aren't we always kinda hiding from what's wrong?_

With that, she paid her tab and went out to beat up some defenseless trashcans.

* * *

She wasn't home at midnight, one, two, nearly three and he paced a hole in the astroturf-like carpet.

The phone was in his hand. Had been for hours, on and off, trying not to annoy her by calling needlessly, desperate to call, needless or not.

_How bloody thoughtless is it to take someone's entire life's purpose out until the wee hours without so much as a "Don't wait up?"_

_ I'd wait up anyway. And can you imagine how she'd "freak" if you called her your entire life's purpose? _

_She might be that, but she's also her own person. She has every right to go out and collect information however she wants._

_ Even if I am getting an ulcer. _

_ This is not a healthy relationship. _

Wesley blinked. "Well, it's not- a 'relationship'. Of that nature."

_Then this is not a healthy friendship. _

_ That's fine. We're not actually very healthy people. _

_ We're getting there_. _Better than we were. _He picked up the phone and dialed.

* * *

"What?"

"I was worried about you."

So honest. So simple. _That's Wes. That's the Wes I like anyway._ "I'll be home in five."

"Find anything?"

"A whole lot of oblivious people. And some trash." She hesitated as she turned her feet toward home. "You?"

"I found out that I shall never take up hacking professionally. Give me my old dusty books and scrolls in obscure languages. Ask me to recite every part of the D'Aore prophecies in order from 1700 forward, but heaven forbid I should need to remember a series of hard override reprogrammable prompts. I took six pages of notes on how to do three steps. And if it doesn't work, I have to call back and ask her to show me the 'hard way'. The easy way is enough to give a saint a migraine!"

Calling them again. "Well let's hope it works." She said with something heavy in her overtones.

"I hope so too. I'm glad they're willing to help, but I do hate bothering them."

Faith's steps slowed, then sped up as she frowned. Something off in his voice, too. "They giving you crap?"

"No! They're very nice. Willow's always been one of the nicer ones."

"Yeah... just waiting to get stepped on."

"Then it's a good thing I don't 'step on' people."

"You sure about that?"

A pause. "I'm sure I never mean to."

She let out a sighing laugh, bitterness in the breath. "Maybe hacking should be part of Watcher training, huh?"

"Perhaps. We're supposed to be fully sufficient for our Slayers. To give them everything they need, to help them in anyway possible. I feel terribly inadequate most of the time."

"What?" She pushed the door open as she snapped the phone shut. Wesley whirled, and gave a comical look at her, then his phone, and shut his well. "How can you say that?" She continued the conversation in person without batting an eye.

"It happens if you're continually told you _are_ terribly inadequate." He reasoned.

"Yeah? Whoever said that is an idiot." She brushed past him and headed to her room. "I'm sweating. It's a sauna out there."

"Oh. Yes. O-of course. Good night."

"Keep talking, I'm listening." She called through the door.

He coughed, and looked at the door, an inch open. He kept his eyes away from that inch, studied the ceiling. "I don't think I had any more to say. I was simply saying I was trying to get what I needed so we could into battle prepared."

"I fly blind all the time."

"That's because you need eyes. The Watcher." He smirked slightly at his own wit.

The door opened, in his face, and she was there, in black briefs and white tee. "Smooth, Wes. Very smooth. You're the eyes. I'm the muscle."

"So much more. You're the everything. I just- tag along." Eyes pointedly heading up to hers and staying there.

"Liar. You know it's fifty-fifty. Or more." _Not saying in whose favor, but it's pretty obvious._

"Well. Hrm. I-I'll try tomorrow. Those suggestions. If I can get into the records, we'll have something to narrow our search."

"Sounds like a plan."

Door shut. He turned away. She opened the door again, and he swung back. "Should I just stand here for a bit?" Wesley asked in surprise.

"Quick question."

"Yes?" He backed up, hesitating.

"What would you do if Blondie and her bunch weren't speaking to you? Or weren't around, huh?"

"What?"

"You think I can't handle something unless I 'research' it? Unless I 'know' what I'm fighting? I got news for you- life's been throwing stuff at me for years, and no one ever gave me a code to bypass it. Just fight it when you see it. Hunt it up, beat it until it's dead."

"Yes, but-" _Look what's happened to you because of that._

"No, no, no buts. If you didn't have the little computer geek, I could handle this."

"I know that!"

She crossed her arms tightly. "So why?"

"What?"

"Why do you keep going back to them?" _If you picked me... Not that it matters. It just pisses me off. _

"Back to them? I'm not going back to anyone. I simply ask for guidance from experts on a subject when I need help. You understood that about the laptop and the internet and-"

"That's tech crap, not demon killing._ I _do that. I'm the expert on _that._" Faith growled.

"Yes, you are. On killing them. But on being prepared to kill them, that's where _I'm _supposed to be the expert, and if I need help, I'm bloody well going to get it!" His voice rose as hers fell, two people who suppressed various emotions, now giving vent to them- while still trying to remain in some sort of control.

"You don't need to do that anymore! I'm not Buffy! We don't do research parties!"

"I _do_ need to do that, particularly because you're not Buffy!"

"What?" Faith gasped, stung, rage turned up full force, yet she couldn't do more than utter that one furious word.

"Buffy has plenty of help, and all you have is me. Do you know how horrible that would be if I failed? If I failed you? If you got hurt because I was- was negligent? Unprepared?"

"But you keep acting like I need to pull a Buffy and -"

"I don't give a damn about Buffy, all I care about is you!"

Blinking. Blushing. Rage completely vanished. He coughed, she slowly nodded. "I insist on being as informed as possible, if there's time. That's for our survival. Is that acceptable?" Wesley asked softly in a manicured, emotionless voice, mental buttons rapidly doing themselves up over his outburst.

"Yes. You know... I could get that information without doing the big sci-fi whiz kid thing."

"How?"

"Break in. Get files."

"Files are still stored electronically these days. Plus, you in a police station or breaking and entering at all- they'll run your photo and prints through the state or federal database if you're caught. I don't think you want to be caught." _I don't want you to. I may sometimes fail, give into temptation, try to put you in a cage of my own conventions, but for another to cage you... I can't bear that thought. All that power and all that ... beauty. Just rotting away, being punished for blood on your hands, but never atoning._

"There's one other way." She gave a sudden bad girl leer that hid the serious jolt she'd just had. She did tend to think in "want it, take it" terms. There was no thought to consequences. that's why Wes was supposed to stick with her, he was her eyes. Her second step, one step ahead man, too. She knew how to break in, and fight her way out. Do or die. He thought further. Do and don't die. _Smart. _

"What other way?" Wesley asked cautiously.

"Let's just say all I'd need was the names of the victims, and a couple shovels." Faith's crooked, careless grin met carelessly shrugging shoulders.

"Grave robbing?" Wesley gasped.

"No! Grave 'opening'. Nothing taken. No robbing at all. If you need to find what pieces are missing, so you can do your job-"

"So I can help you." He corrected.

" Whatever. Then I'll open a few bone boxes and see what's left."

"And risk getting caught defiling burial grounds."

"You're gonna risk getting caught hacking into state and local government and police files." She pointed out. Her grin turned more feline. "Mm. A little bit of the bad boy with brains."

Her purring tones unsettled him yet again. Always keeping him off balance. If he ever found himself on solid ground, he might be on equal footing, able to match her. Catch her. Hurt her. _Was that why, was that it? Or is that simply Faith?_

"May we try my way first? And if it fails, well- I'll procure a few shovels and some torches."

"Torches? You think we have mad scientists making up a Frankenstein?"

"No, not torches like that. Flashlights."

"Ah. Gotcha."

"I should buy us a few anyway." A sudden sweep of exhaustion hit him. "Are we sorted now?" _Three in the morning, screaming, explaining, justifying, and now- the possibility of grave "opening". I'm going to be in need of a grave myself shortly..._

"Five by five."

She shut the door and he remained. When five minutes passed, he finally turned away, muttering, "Six feet under is much more likely..."

* * *

"Victim's body was found in three places. Multiple places had skin and tissue missing before decay set in, indicating wounds were inflicted at time of death. Three sets of different teeth marks." Wesley stopped reading, a pale green.

"Oh, hey, it worked." Faith sat down beside him, leg slung over the second chair at the small square table. "Add hacker to your resume. Want a wing?"

Wesley swallowed the remains of his regurgitating morning meal with an effort. "No. No, thank you."

Faith turned the laptop with orange tinted fingers. "Hm. Demon with munchies? Head and chest in one alley, legs in another, arms down by the creek... sounds like he was just snacking as he walked around town."

"Snacking on a father of three who owned a local gas station." Wesley's face hardened.

Faith's did, too. "That's victim one. What about two?"

"Single, black female, waitress in the summer, college student about to return to FSU for the fall semester." He turned the screen and drew his chair beside hers so they could squint together. "I saved all the pertinent files as 'PDF's, so we could read them here, even without the internet."

"What's that?"

"I don't actually know." He confessed. "But you can save things from websites rather than print them. I didn't think the librarian would like suddenly finding grisly crime scene reports in her printer."

"Probably not." She kept munching, sucking sauce off her fingers and the small bones.

Wesley blanched. "How can you do that?" He finally demanded in a horror stricken hiss.

"Huh? It's leftovers from the last bar I stopped at last night."

"I meant eat while you read about the - the fact that people were devoured."

"I don't know. Hungry?" _Thick skin. I didn't know them. I can't bring 'em back. And these are gonna go bad the way that fridge acts up._

_ I just don't feel the bad sometimes. I know I should. Sometimes I don't._

_That's pretty damn sick. _

_ You gotta care about something, right? _

"Tell me about number three."

"Divorced. Worked at a bank. They found her partially skeletonized limbs and torso in four areas of the city. Again- multiple sets of teeth marks, and the flesh didn't decay off. It- was taken off at the time of death."

"So you get something that kills and eats."

"And shares."

"Shares?"

"Multiple sets of teeth. Whatever this is hunts in a pack and divides the spoils."

"Like wild dogs? Werewolves?"

"Werewolves don't put pieces of their kills in dumpsters."

"True. Oh, hey. Don't packs usually stick together?"

"That is the definition of pack." He answered drily.

"So... are you saying these things hunt as a pack, then split up- literally- and ditch the leftovers? Also- they didn't really chow down. Just took bites."

Wesley nodded eagerly, and immediately reached for his well worn guidebooks. "Don't touch these. I might be able to fix a dogeared page, but I'm fairly certain tenth century lambskin parchment will permanently absorb hot sauce."

"You don't hear me complaining." She laughed and gnawed the last one remaining. "Got addresses?"

"Hm?"

"Locations of bodies. Or body parts?"

"Yes, in the police report."

"You book. I'll look."

* * *

The trail was cold of course. After twenty days. After sixty, after ninety. Not coordinated with full moon cycles, Mr. Priss was quick to tell her. "Got a week and change to figure out what the f-"

"Hi."

Faith whirled, fist raised, and sent a kid in pigtails, faded shorts, and a pink shirt screaming to the other end of the alley. "Whoa! Hey, hey come back! I- I didn't mean to-"

"Don't touch me!"

"I'm not! I mean- I was scared. I don't like when people sneak up on me." Faith said quickly and kept her distance. "Sorry. I'm not gonna punch you."

"I'm sorry, too. For scaring you. Why are you in the alley?"

"I uh- was looking for something."

"What?"

_I hate kids_. "Something that someone dropped."

"Are you a biker?"

"Huh?"

"You dress like him. Kinda. But your face isn't messed up."

"Slow down kid, you lost me."

"Are you a biker?"

"No. Well... not right now." Faith looked at her denim and black covered body. She didn't own a pair of shorts. Not really a good wardrobe choice for slaying, unless you like difficult to explain scratches all over your legs.

"Were you?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Don't you know you're not supposed to talk to strangers." _Really not supposed to talk to strangers around here._ "Where's your mom?"

"Work."

"Dad?"

"Not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Now you decided to go along with that? Jesus, kid..." Faith rubbed her temples. "It's getting dark, you need to get inside."

"_You're_ out."

"I'm an adult."

"Stupid rules."

"Tell me about it." Faith gave a grudging smile. "Look, it's not safe out here in the dark. You should get inside."

"I saw the biker monster from inside." Her lower lip protruded and her arms crossed.

Faith's ears prickled. "Biker monster?"

"He dropped something."

"Something big or small?"

"I don't know. I saw him drop it. I saw his face and I went to wake up my mom."

"Because he had a scary face?"

"Yeah. A scary face, with yucky skin." The child explained as if this were obvious and Faith must be missing some crucial brain cells not to get that.

"Yucky skin?" _I bet _that _doesn't come up in Wesley's index. _

"You ask a lot of questions, too."

Faith laughed in spite of herself. "Did your mom tell you to go back to bed, you had a bad dream?"

The kid's eyes went wide. "You can read minds?"

"No, I just remember getting told that when I saw scary monsters, too." Faith sighed. "God, kid, I hope you're not a Slayer in the making."

"What's that?"

"It means if you see a monster, run inside. Sometimes they're real." Faith chewed her lip for a moment. "Hey, when did you see this biker dude?"

"I don't know!" Her eyes got big. "I can't tell time yet!"

Faith swallowed a loud laugh by coughing it into her sleeve. "Yeah, right. Okay. Um. Before summer break was over? After school started?"

"After."

"Um...Oh! Was it before or after Halloween?"

"I don't remember."

"That's okay. You did good."

"Are you looking for the scary man?"

"You betcha."

"What do you do if you find him?"

"I kill him." _Damn. I bet you don't say that to kids._ Faith wondered if she was supposed to sugarcoat it, or lie, or just run the heck away. Running was probably a good bet. Her mouth was still moving. "So he doesn't hurt anyone."

"Like the X-Men fight bad guys?"

"X-Men? Sure. Why not?" _I've already screwed up this kid's night, what's a little more?_

"Wow."

"But it's a secret."

"Duh! Everyone knows that." Pigtails rolled her eyes.

Faith felt slightly light headed. She wondered if this was how Wesley felt talking to her. Like you couldn't keep up, and you really should have kept quiet in the first place. "I have to go find this guy. Okay? Can you go back inside?"

Pigtails scuffed her shoes. " 'Kay."

"Hey... you're gonna be fine. I'm gonna keep an eye on this place. I promise. You stay inside and don't talk to anymore strangers. Even the ones who might be super heroes." Faith winked.

Kid smiled. Missing tooth. Gross but oddly cute.

_Promising some little kid you'll keep her safe, make it okay? Giving her safety advice? _

_ Need a drink._

* * *

Faith went to the end of happy hour and decided the subtle approach sucked. The femme fatale sucked. Time for obnoxious. "Yo." She caught the first lone middle aged guy who might miss the sight of perky boobs and mascara. "You. You're gonna keep me company."

"But I-"

"Beer. None of that light crap."

"Uh... okay..." He ordered in a daze, Faith's talons in his elbow, her smile severe and her eyes dark and blank.

"I was just stopping in. I'm not looking to - to buy some company." The man admitted stiffly.

"I'm not a hooker. People have to stop making that mistake."_ I never charged. I just took what I wanted. What they were happy to give._

"You didn't look like one. Exactly." He fumbled out his placations.

Her fingers curled and clenched. "Stop talking."

He opened his mouth, changed his mind, then nodded.

"Bikers. Where do they hang out?"

"Huh?"

"Bikers. Biker bar. Illegal races? Chop shop? Dirt track? Gang headquarters? Gimme something."

"But I- I don't know something! I mean anything! I'm not a biker, I'm a teller!"

"Teller. At a bank?"

"Yes..." He answered cautiously, clearly wondering about Faith's mental faculties.

_Everyone's giving me that look today._ "You know the lady who died?"

He stiffened. "Are you a cop?"

She snorted beer out her nose. "So not."

"Then I don't need to talk to you." He started to rise. A long leg in jeans barred his path from the booth.

"No, you don't. But you're gonna wish you had if a fourth body turns up. Fifth, if you piss me off and don't cooperate. Now. Tell me. If I were a badass biker- where would I go?"

* * *

"I've looked up dozens of demons who hunt in packs, clans, mated pairs who encourage their offspring to leave the nest while still remaining in the area..."

"Anything that operates in gangs?"

"Gangs?"

"Like biker gangs?"

"What in heaven's name are you talking about?" Wesley looked completely flummoxed.

"Look, I ran into this kid who said a biker with a scary face and yucky skin 'dropped' something in the alley where they found that body. Then I kind of browbeat this guy into talking about where a bunch of badass bikers would hang out. After he swears up and down that nothing like that exists in this city, he mentioned there's a roadhouse that's closed on the outskirts of town. He's sure it's not used. Says he drives past it to visit his mother in - I don't remember the name and it doesn't matter. He passes it and it's always dead."

"But perhaps it's used - occasionally?"

"Like once a month. For- I don't know what. Potluck?" She smothered a laugh as she raked her hands through her wavy hair.

"Your funereal sense of humor would make Poe despair." Wesley sighed and shifted texts. "Here. Violent demons who use humans or body parts as tokens, trophies, trade, or for competitive sport."

"I just did all that leg work! You just sat on your ass!"

"Well, my ass is as tired as your legs and you didn't ask me to come along tonight, so look at a book!"

"Touchy." Faith snatched what he offered and collapsed on the couch.

Silence. Pages ruffling. "Are you going back out?"

"Yeah. When it's late enough."

Ruffling and rustling. "You want tea?"

"I would adore tea. Do you want me to heat something up?"

"Nope. I got it."

His eyes rose from the page. "You-"

"I can heat soup, Wes. And ten seconds to crack open a can of hearty vegetable is ten seconds I'm not pretending to be brains instead of brawn."

* * *

She slurped. He sipped.

"Is this the way you prefer it to be, then?" He asked. _Every town changes us, changes our roles. We are never us, we are always us- who we're supposed to be in the moment. Sadly, the falsehoods are usually better than the reality we can't find._

"No, actually, I kinda like clam chowder. Not that Manhattan crap, either. No tomatoes."

"Do you prefer me to be brains, and you to be brawn? You slay, I read? That is the way it's traditionally done."

"Since when am I traditional?" She demanded.

"I was merely checking."

"You better come with me tonight. I have fresh leads and I need fresh eyes." She reached over and grabbed the last of his saltines off his plate. "You weren't eating those, right?"

"Saving them for you." He grinned. "I need a rest. _Someone _kept me up half the night."

"She must be pretty good." Faith gave a coarse laugh.

"She's excellent, if somewhat exasperating." He nearly dropped a wink, but turned his head at the last moment. "Wake me when you're ready to go out."

* * *

"You didn't happen to get any sort of actual directions did you?"

"On the outskirts. Does that count?"

"No."

"Then no."

"We'll take the car."

"Fine with me. My legs started cramping up today."

"Hm. Could be the dampness, I suppose. Have you been using that massage oil I bought you?"

"Wes. That stuff is for like- body massages." She finally had to tell him.

"I know. What other sorts are there? I suppose scalp massage or deep tissue, but I find that the overarching term-"

"It's for sex, Wes."

His car key skidded slightly off course from the keyhole and made a faint white chip on the paint. "Bugger." He breathed out harshly, caught off guard.

"Yeah, works for that too, although personally I'm good with some Swiss Navy and spit."

He made a strangled nod and asked in a forced voice of calm, "What should I have gotten you?"

"Massage _lotion_, I guess. Or just baby oil. That stuff you bought when we were in Iowa was okay. This new stuff though...I don't know, buy what you want. I never had muscle pain until after that stupid coma."

"We'll go to a chemist, that is- the pharmacy, and you get what you need." _The way she throws it out so flippantly. Anything sexual. She doesn't mean it to injure my sensibilities, though stir them up, yes, she does mean that. Still, the way she talks about it like it's nothing._

_ I guess it's always been nothing to her. _

He felt a sudden deep and painful sadness he couldn't shake. Words were tumbling around in his throat, and even as honest as he was with her, as painfully transparent, he couldn't get them to come out this time.

"Did I just scar you for life there, English?"

"Hm? No, no." He hastily clicked on the radio and picked a vague direction towards the edge of the city and made for it.

_I wish I was the sort of person who hugged. Or who held. Who could say, I will care for you and you will never be a nothing in my eyes. Things you do, when you share yourself- don't let it become nothing. Don't _you_ make it a "nothing". My Faith with something special inside her, wearing the mask that none of it matters. _

_ Ha. While I wear the same mask, the indifferent mask. Same mask, just a different design._

_ I wonder what it takes for us to show our faces? Even just for a moment?_

* * *

It took Hellions. Eight and trying to call more, to take the town and drain it dry. The roadhouse, found on the third night of searching was indeed empty. Usually. But there was evidence all around, once you knew what to look for. Tire tracks. Drag marks. Splintered wood.

And on the fourth night of watching the place- overhearing a game.

"This ain't poker." Faith whispered under her breath, watching dice and bits of bone change hands across a listing, battered pool table.

"I believe its called Devil's Pot. References made in the-"

"Can you just leave the book out for a little light reading when we get back? I'm watching."

They were both watching through a torn board in the ceiling, their car parked in a clump of live oaks covered in Spanish moss over a mile away. Hellions would notice a car in the area. Wesley said he didn't think they'd notice faint human smells, as Hellions often blended into human society, and were probably covered in the scent anyway. As a precaution he made them wear necklaces, a pendant of a bag stuffed with a black powder, some kind of ground up incense and holy protection, Faith couldn't recall the details. She wasn't paying attention during the lesson, she just slipped the stinky thing on.

"Shh."

"I am _'shh' _ed."

"Throw in an eye."

"Two."

"The head."

"Take the tongue."

"Okay, Lucky, your roll."

Six groans, one cheer, one curse. "Damn."

"Svaras keeps the tongue."

"There are so many of us now. Should we have two humans, or play every other week?" Dice and shards of human bones were passed to the next player, and names of preferred pieces were mumbled in undertones as the other conversation occurred simultaneously.

"I say we move inland further, into the city, play every week."

"It's too soon. You'll get the police stepping up searches."

"We can play with police. Anything with four limbs is in." Raucous laughter greeted that gruesome statement.

"I said it's not ready." One Hellion stood up, seemingly irritated that his words were being ignored and jokes made.

"Svaras, sit down. Your clan is always so cautious. You'd still be killing alligators and stray dogs if it weren't for my boys moving into the area." The one called Lucky laughed mockingly.

A guttural growl was emitted, something that earned snarled responses, and something metallic flew through the air.

Wesley gasped.

"What?" Faith whispered.

"He insults the rival clan, their spawn, and the mothers of their spawn."

"Trash talking about mamas? That could be good. Maybe that'll put a few out of commission."

"Yes. Like that broad fellow with the knife sticking through his nose." Wesley winced.

"Let's get off the roof."

"What?"

"We know they're not gonna play with a human tonight. If we come back tomorrow we'll have less to fight."

"Are you being cautious?"

"Nope. Smart."

"But what if they decide to claim a victim tomorrow night before we arrive? We can't possible prevent eight- seven- oh dear, five- at once."

"The rate they're going, we might as well just wait and see who's left standing then finish them off." Faith sighed and settled herself in more comfortably. "Uh oh."

"What?"

"My necklace-thing."

Wesley looked over. The powder-filled bag was snagged over the broken wooden board. Faith had shifted back, and the string was pulled taut. Her hands were supporting her body on the rickety roof. "Oh dear. You hold still."

"Wasn't planning to fall to my death, Wes." She said hoarsely. "Tried it already." She couldn't move unless she moved forward, further over the hole.

"I'll lift it off."

"Cut it!"

"I don't have a knife."

"I do!"

"Where?"

"Pick a spot, Wes, geez." She rolled her eyes.

His hands cautiously left the roof, and he held himself up with his knees. "In your boots?"

"Yeah." Too late Faith realized that to free her, he was letting go of his handholds. He couldn't reach down with just one hand, she couldn't swing her leg up and not knock him off. "Whoa, whoa, Wes, you're gonna-"

"I'm alright!" He hissed. "I have a fairly adept sense of-"

She suspected her would have said "balance", but balanced or not, the roof objected to having a sudden increase of weight on the already rotted boards under Faith's knees.

"Dash it." A splintering crack. "Faith..." He wheezed, losing all the air in his lungs as he saw a patch of light spill underneath them, the roof yawning to swallow them up.

"_Fuck_." Her knees suddenly went down. The string pulled taut, burned the back of her neck when it suddenly tore off a layer of skin as it took all her weight, then snapped as she literally belly flopped into an unforgiving pool. With Wesley halfway on top of her, she rode a carpet of broken wood into the middle of brawling demons.

* * *

Black sparkles filled the air. The burst bag from her string necklace was gently dumping its contents onto five stunned demons in leather and branded skin, one shocked and terrified Watcher, and one Slayer who had just a close encounter with hanging and staking simultaneously.

"Aren't you gonna ask us to play a couple hands?" Faith grinned and shouldered Wesley off of her as she sat up, rubbing her midriff.

"Humans!"

"A fresh pot! We can play tonight!"

"No, no, now there's an uneven number."

"Don't be greedy Aldo."

"We can work this out after we kill them."

"Or after we kill you." Faith grinned and cracked her knuckles as she stood. "Y'know. Whatever."

* * *

She was a blur, and they were taken aback. Chains came out, knives... teeth. Rows of red and yellow jagged teeth.

"Faith, watch yourself!" _For God's sake... we're surrounded_. Wesley had his cross bow and some stakes. Stakes weren't going to work. Unless he got close range. He wouldn't survive close range. Faith might, but he didn't have anywhere near her strength or speed.

"More moving, less thinking!" Faith grabbed one end of a spiked chain and hissed in pain, yanking it forward, the demon attached to it.

"Right!" He stepped into the fray, or rather, the fray came to him. A blow like a bowling ball being catapulted landed on his arm at the shoulder. His entire limb from the join of the neck to fingertips instantly went numb.

"Move away, not in!" Faith sliced the chain through a thick, corded neck and swung it again, lashing at the demon who was going after Wesley, leaving her back exposed.

He saw his assailant buckle at the knees as the chain whipped his legs, and behind him he could see the rearing figure coming after her. "Duck!"

He didn't know how he managed it. The crossbow in a deadened hand suddenly transferred to his good one. He pulled the trigger and the sleek silver tipped arrow that was meant to slice through the toughest demon hide went neatly through the center of the Hellion's throat. There was a splash of blood, and he fell, hands dragging limply down Faith's back.

Wesley's lungs began to function again. _This would all be very farcical, a seesaw of demons and weaponry, if it wasn't so terribly deadly. _

"Nice shooting, Mr. Wayne." Faith found time to smile.

_Apparently amusing, even then. _"Now is not the time!" He dragged himself up in a panic. Two still active, three still alive, and only her continued swinging and kicking was keeping them at bay. She dealt them blows hard enough to back them off, then they staggered back up and attacked again, angrier then ever.

"Why not now?" She shook off her coat, wrapping it around her next assailant's head and sending him forward into the wooden wall. She laughed once, arms and legs still pumping. "Best workout in a long time!"

_And she considers this thing of life and death a game, a mere exercise routine. Why should she think otherwise? Look at her._ "Be careful!" He still called out to her, but watched in awe as she battled.

She was glistening, hair rapidly turning wet in the humid air and under the influence of her exertion, shirt clinging to her, thick jagged lines of blood over her left shoulder and across her tattoo. Knives, stakes, they appeared from nowhere and reappeared in the eyes, throats, and faces of her opponents.

Wesley was enthralled. But unlike the other times he watched her fight, something felt wrong. Too fast, too frenzied, too relaxed, not finishing them. Just beating them, goading them to come back for more. "Faith... Wrap it up." He had leveled his weapon many times but she was too much in the thick of it for him to take a shot. "Dammit!" He moved to find a new vantage point, one where he could be useful.

"Die, human!" One Hellion howled.

"You first!" Faith howled right back.

"Get her mate."

Wesley suddenly realized moving had been a bad idea, eager to help her, he'd unwittingly drawn attention to himself.

"What? No!" Faith suddenly lost her focus and went down under a hammer blow punch.

_At least she's not in range._ Wesley aimed high, hit one in the shoulder, reloaded only to find he'd lost his opportunity. Those creatures, so hulking and huge, moved far more quickly than he'd imagined. He winced and backed up, steeling himself for a death blow, a half-prayer on his lips as he closed his eyes.

"Hey!"

Wesley opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. Most of a pool table was coming hurtling through the air. Straight at him. He made a sound, a cross between a scream and a gasp, terribly unmanly.

The Hellions, two charging at him now, one lagging just behind, they all turned.

Wesley's glasses were stained crimson. _All _of him was stained crimson. He gaped at the sight of three bodies mown down by a combination of blunt force and high speed, plastered and pressed against them, bent at unnatural angles.

"For such tough guys, they sure are bleeders." Faith gasped, sinking to her knees, whole body shaking with exertion.

Then she vomited and passed out.

* * *

"Are you awake?" An insistent voice, coming to her in a haze. "Please... please, God, please... Faith. Are you awake?"

"Huh?"

The dream voice went away, replaced with something far more starchy, though oddly uneven sounding. "Yes then. Let's see. Hrm. Move your wrist to the right. Gently... gently!" Hands left her head and went down to her hands. She rotated her wrist into his touch with a violent curse and wince. "Oh, thank God, it's not broken." He breathed thankfully. "Next time, I suggest using a chair, instead of an eight hundred pound pool table, to knock out demonic bikers. Promise me?"

She shook her head, eyes still closed, feeling disoriented and dizzy. "No deal. Too many. Needed something big." She feebly pushed his hand off hers, and set the injured limb in - something wet and clumpy. "Oh dude. I have puke on my shirt."

"Open your eyes." Wesley was kneeling over her. Red streaked and frowning, glasses gone. Blood, thick and crimson, lined all the seams in his face, especially around the eyes. "Do you still want to complain about the vomit?" He asked with a touch of that dry British wit.

"Sorry you got the splash back." She sat up. Her wrist was swollen and bulged funny. "Nasty. Gotta wrap this."

"Yes. And clean your arms."

"Showers."

"I don't want to get in the car like this." Wesley gagged at the sight of himself, and hastily looked away. What lay around them was no better. A slaughter house of humanoid figures. "Did they hit your head?" He asked quietly, steadying her.

"Wha? Oh. Yeah, yeah, must've. A-and my stomach. Got the old gut-stab punched in real good with the fall, and then with the punching. Wicked painful."

"I know. I feel quite ill myself. We need to get out of here."

"Right. Kitchen."

"Kitchen?"

"Big restaurant sinks. It was a roadhouse. They must have a kitchen. And bathrooms."

"I doubt the water still works."

"We'll see." She limped ahead of him. _The faster you walk, the less he can see. _

_ That he makes you get up and fight. _She had been flattened, and they weren't a threat to her at that second_. _They were after Wes.

_ They're after Wes._ She saw them, three broad, leather clad backs, and just one second to flatten them all. The broken pool table, bearing traces of blood already- the place she guessed they divvied up their human spoils- was the only thing heavy enough and big enough.

Too big. Too heavy. For one wrist anyway. It buckled and bent and she didn't give two shits. She hurled that mother with her entire body, and knew she was going to flatten them. Disable them. She actually counted on their bodies to protect his.

She knew it all was a gamble. She gambled with his life, and if she lost it- Faith suddenly stopped in the hall and breathed hard and deep, keeping the rising bile down.

"Here, let me..." He scuffled against her, shoulder under hers, thinking she was woozy, about to vomit again. "The vomiting and the loss of consciousness." He remarked worriedly. "Signs of concussion. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, you don't." She pushed off of him and staggered into swinging doors.

The kitchen was gray with grime, but at least it wasn't red with gore. She practically fell into the lime stained utility-sized sinks. Water splattered out as she pushed the handles.

"Take your shirt off."

"Hm? Oh, yes, I- Oh dear." His glasses fell into the sink. Her shirt joined them. He swallowed hard and cast a sudden sideways glance at her.

Black brassiere, gouges and wounds over beige cream skin and tribal ink, red staining her from cheeks to belt. She scooped water up and over herself, then let it trickle down, over mounds and lines as she leaned heavily against the sputtering basin.

He took his shirt off, wished for soap, and scrubbed. _Amazing how fast blood dries._ It caked on, he scraped it off, closing his mouth to avoid letting the foul stuff trickle into his mouth.

She risked a look at him. His whole shoulder looked like tenderized flank steak. Gone off. Blue and black with distended looking veins. "They got you good."

"You're worse."

Eyes met over wet torsos and scarlet tinged hands. _Whatever. I'm used to it. I can take it._ Silent eyes spoke volumes about the familiarity of pain, her mouth only two words. "You're okay."

He blinked. "Thanks to you. Pool table hurling. A new sport."

She shoved him. "Smartass."

He - brushed his hand across hers, a shove that couldn't manifest, not when she was bruised and bloodied. And bare. "We're fine. People are safe from this threat."

"I know." He's _safe. He's safe. I should be mad at him. For making me care. Making me slip. Giving me a weakness. _

_ And I can't be mad. Stupid jerk. Because I'm just so glad he's not dead._

"I'm so glad you weren't seriously hurt. I should have reacted faster. I know you were at risk because I wasn't equal to you on the field and I-"

"Can you shut up?"

"I _have_ tried, you recall." He grinned helplessly and shrugged.

She tanked her head under the water and came up soaking and gasping, long thick mane whirling back like a lustrous whip. "Okay. I'm not gonna get cleaner without serious amounts soap. Let's go."

"But your- shirt?"

"No amount of bleach gets this out, Wes. You're going skins, too." She shrugged.

"I can't let you walk to the car like that! I'll go get the car, you wait here." He said in a mixture of gallantry and mortification.

"I'm not letting you walk to the car by yourself." She argued in an answering mixture of stubbornness and sullenness.

"Faith!" His voice sounded strained.

"Wes." Her dark eyes softened and turned away abruptly. "I have my jacket out there someplace."

"Mine is- well, oddly enough it's not as thoroughly ruined as the shirt." He surveyed the khaki jacket with soaking trails on the inside and spatters on the outside, just at the zipper. "Must have had it open enough that..." The feel of five hundred pounds of dead monster hitting him, sliding down him... He shook his head. "A few times through the laundry should fade it. I hope."

"They make this stain stick stuff. I saw a commercial. Gets out blood, grape juice, red wine... entrails..."

Her soft snigger made him smile. "We'll have to buy some. A few gallons, perhaps."

They hobbled out together. She found her jacket on the way. He retrieved arrows and stakes, she pulled out knives with sticky slick thuds.

"The sight of so much carnage. It's- overwhelming." He admitted in a thick, "trying to keep calm" voice.

"Yeah. Yeah, it can be."

She could care less about the hunks of dead meat on the floor behind them.

One sound kept echoing in her ears, one sight in her eyes. Color seemed to drain from her face.

"You don't look well at all."

She turned her face to him in the sweltering moonlight, air so damp it misted on them.

Soft smile, hard all at once, broken and beautiful. Tired, tired eyes that still seemed so young. "Any landing we can walk away from, right?"

_There's a "we"._ "Of course. But we do need to wrap that wrist."

"Okay. Not arguing. Hurts like a bitch." She said easily. His eyes were always concerned around hers. Pissed her off half the time. Most of the time. She looked back towards the road, looking for the hidden spot where they'd concealed the car. Then one night you open your eyes, the world is swimming, and all you see is those worried eyes, locked on you like you're the only thing in the universe. For once, it doesn't piss you off. "Gotta ice up that shoulder." Faith shook herself and gestured to Wesley's shoulder.

"We're going to need a lot of antiseptic." The mauling on her was hidden by her jacket, but the sight of it was fresh in his mind.

They got to the car and sat. He didn't put the key in the ignition and she didn't rush him. Two people stunned and exhausted after an ordeal, not sinking back, simply rigid and wide eyes in silence, looking at the black forest through an unmoving windscreen.

_Just another battle._

Now. But when it had been happening...

"Get her mate."

She saw him, a sudden deer in the headlights look, but his weapon was drawn. The smart fighter. Her scream, "What? No!"

She was NOT going to lose another Watcher.

More importantly, she was not going to lose Wesley.

Wesley started the car. The woman beside him was shaking again, brief, convulsive shakes. _Just another battle._ His lips formed comforting words, but he didn't believe them.

She vomited and then collapsed. He refused to believe it was the stress of a battle, because she'd been handling it supremely well, almost enjoying it. He also didn't dare believe it was stress over something else. Like his survival, and near lack thereof. She wouldn't faint over a near miss, or she'd have been fainting for months. He was a tremendous liability, yet she grudgingly regarded him as her backup. He came to believe it.

_Unless things have become more emotionally driven. And we've truly bonded and we- No. _He was thinking this now, he wasn't thinking that at the time. He drove on deserted roads that required no concentration, simply the ability to stop and start, mind tracing over his thoughts of an hour ago.

Lifting her head, clearing the airway, frantic, unstopping whispers of "Faith? Faith? Faith?" Ever increasing. Running over the list of injuries that induced vomiting, loss of consciousness, then death. He'd seen that brute slam his full weight into her skull, send her flying back. She'd rallied long enough to take them out, then collapsed.

Collapsing Faith was foreign to him. This was not "falling down because of weak muscles and stubbornness Faith", this was - a collapse. A body folding and falling, a body that had been in full warrior mode moments before.

He'd rubbed her hands frantically, laid his head to her chest, and remembered you were supposed to keep the victim of an accident still, not move them. To hell with that, he picked her up gently, just her shoulders, head on his lap, and was rewarded with fluttering lashes. Quickly put her head down, and concentrated on her wrist.

He'd never really realized what shock felt like. Until now. After it was done. When he realized what he'd been doing.

Holding onto her in case her life was slipping away.

His turn to give a shudder.

She didn't look at him. Sticky eyelashes from traces of blood shuttered her eyes and then returned to the upright position. She wasn't going to think about it anymore. About what almost happened. Masks had fallen enough for the night.

"I could use a drink." He said, in that precise yet casual tone he sometimes used with her.

"Like this?" She gestured to them both, shirtless and bloody.

"After a shower."

"There's an all night liquor store."

"Excellent."

* * *

He scrubbed in the sink, she in the shower, then switched, barely looking at towel wrapped bodies.

They met in the tiny kitchen, the first aid kit open and ready. Shirtless in his case, holding a towel to her chest- not even covering her back, they worked on each other. He wrapped and tapped, cleaned and swabbed.

He drove them back out, ice tapped to his shoulder, several aspirin floating in his stomach. "What shall we have?"

"Bourbon. Lots of it."

* * *

The bottle passed from mouth to mouth. Her hand was mummified, his shoulder stiff and taped clumsily, a two person job, her good hand and his making a damaged effort.

Somewhere along they way he'd forgotten about the niceties of using a glass.

She stopped wiping the bottle about twenty passes ago.

"Hell of a night." She pushed the nearly empty bottle into his hand again.

He drained it, wiped his mouth and nodded.

* * *

Sunrise came up on two clean, bandaged, bruised, drunk people, sprawled on hideous furniture. "You're gonna have a mother of a hangover, Wes." Faith muttered.

"Mhm. I know." He mused complacently. Alcohol made some people gregarious. Some people amorous. Some people vicious. For them, it seemed to be a combination of coping and celebration. _Hurrah, we're alive. Let's forget how much it hurts, and toast our success._ He almost released a tipsy giggle, then found it replaced with a yawn."I think I'll sleep." No way in the world he was going to the library today. And now that they'd eliminated the threat- so he hoped- he had nothing to but his "day job". He yawned again. "You?"

"One thing I gotta do first."

* * *

"Hey. Pigtails."

The kid gasped. Then frowned. The bruised, puffy lady with one arm wrapped up near her chest was the superhero from her alley.

"You waiting for the bus?" Faith kept her distance.

"Uh-huh." The little girl peered at her curiously, and went to move closer.

"Just wanted to tell you that bad biker dude is gone. You won't see them anymore." Faith was already turning away. She didn't know why she felt the need to tell some pipsqueak. Yes, she did. _She gave me the tip off. Simple._

Faith told herself that was all it was and any other sort of thought was banished into the armored part of her heart. She walked away fast, without saying goodbye, humming something loud in her head.

Pretending she didn't hear the shout of "Thanks, lady!" drifting in the muggy air behind her.

_Don't thank me yet. _

_ Long, _long_ way to go before I get to "thanks". _She squared her shoulders and ignored the fresh oozing of blood it caused as her knitting skin opened once again. _Gotta walk home. No rest for the wicked. _

_ Or whatever the hell I am now..._

* * *

To be continued.._._


	19. Chapter 19

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Sirius120, AGriffinWriter, and The-Darkness-Befalls._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XIX**

_Gaps_

"Can't we leave yet?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Dear Lord, are we actually having this conversation?" Wesley rolled his eyes.

Faith huffed. "I'm going crazy, man. There's nothing to _do_."

"Which is a mercy, because I'm dangerously close to missing three deadlines." Three days later and his shoulder was wrapped and taped, a mass of hematoma and burst blood vessels. The bone must've been bruised judging by the amount of pain he felt. Amazing how something so painful could still be quite numb. He carried on without complaint, but typing was taking longer than ever as his fingers fumbled in their half-awake state.

"Yeah, well..." She shouldn't fight yet, either. Her wrist was healing faster than his shoulder, Slayer perks, but it still hurt and was still in a bandage. But unlike Wes, she didn't have a job to keep her busy. No one in this town seemed to want to hire a hot brunette for a little bar tending work. Or a little flirting.

"Give it time." Wesley seemed to read her mind. "The Hellion influence, the evil they permeate, will take awhile to pass. When no one is murdered in a gruesome fashion this month, hope will be restored, fears lessened, and -"

"We'll be _gone_, dude."

"Ah. There is that." For once, he didn't offer to extend their stay. He hated this place as much as she did, with the tension filling the air, mirroring the humidity. "You could come to the library with -"

"_No._"

"Perhaps try to find another city that has-"

"No."

"I'm going back to my reading now." He decided.

* * *

Days of apathy, healing, and general moodiness. She did seem to notice a lessening of hostilities as time passed. People were smiling. _Must've passed the due date for the next big ol' killing. Or something else. _

Or both.

* * *

"Stupid Americans."

"Dumb Brits. Are we playing the insult game? 'Cause if we are, I'm gonna win." She smirked.

"I have no doubt of that." Wesley said tersely.

"You're usually little Mr. Sunshine's Coming Out of My Belly Button. What's wrong?"

"The library is closed Wednesday, Thursday, _and_ Friday this week! And after that, we'll only be here a few more days. It's not enough time to upload all this work and send it back. Especially with the internet speeds they offer. I'm going to have to drive into a city with one of those 'cyber cafes'. "

"Why is the library closed, and why is it the fault of Americans?"

"It's Thanksgiving."

"Oh. Well, then yeah. Stupid Americans."

Wesley let go of his snit- to an extent. "You're a native of Massachusetts." Hie eyebrows raised skeptically. "Birthplace of the holiday, the landing of the Pilgrims, etc. I expected you to-"

"Love it? Celebrate it? At least realize it was coming up? Nope." She popped a Skittle in her mouth with a defiant jut of her chin. "Thanksgiving for me was mom drinking vodka with a shot of cranberry juice and blaming her daily blackout on too much turkey. Which was kinda funny, since we never had one. So no, I don't give a rat's ass about the holiday, okay with you?" _Listening to every kid in every class, no matter what, no matter where, talk about seeing their family, sledding, eating until they puke. Seven kinds of pie, three kinds of mashed potatoes. Who does that? Is there more than one way to squash a vegetable?_

"I see. Well. Hrm. Not that I have a dislike of the holiday, I've just never celebrated it. We could, of course-"

"Cook a turkey in this oven? Wes, this oven won't even _hold_ a turkey, let alone cook it. It's a dicey situation on whether it'd fit a chicken." _Don't. Don't try to make this a happy holiday. Don't try to fix it. Some things are not about being a good guy gone to the dark side. Some things are just about being a screwed up kid with a rotten life._

"Perhaps a nice restaurant in town will do a turkey dinner?" He winced as her eyes slashed him.

"No. Hey. Y'know what? This place still sucks with sucky human scumbags beating on each other and robbing each other. I got work to do."

"Your wrist-"

"Can slap a few others. I won't put anybody in the ground. Just on it."

She left the bungalow with a slam and a kick, not giving him a backwards glance.

Wesley stared after her. _How can she be so close, and so far, all at once?_

* * *

The holiday came. He kept busily typing, as usual, though in cramped spaces, instead of at the library. He hated constantly having to look at downloaded and printed copies of what he was supposed to be doing, squashing his sore shoulders into a crunch over the keys, something that seemed to irritate him more than anything else.

Faith was just irritated to begin with. "Fucking parade on every fucking channel. Let's get to football." She growled. "At least then I can check out some nice glutes and maybe some blood."

"I miss cricket matches being televised." He sighed half-heartedly with a momentary pause in the clicking of keys.

"They're not anymore?"

"Well, not over here."

"Yeah. Guess things are different here than at home."

The key clicking died again and stayed dead.

"I _am_ home." _Home is where I have a purpose. Where I- have someone to care about, who, in some way, sometimes, seems to care about me_. "I'm just not in England anymore." He murmured. The laptop seemed to shut on its own, his nerveless hand resting atop the case, but himself unaware of putting it there.

_Home?_ Faith stopped angrily speeding through channels.

Holidays weren't really about "home" to her. They couldn't be. You have to have spent some happy times on holidays in the place you felt was home, with the people you loved, to make some sorta memory, to have some kinda tradition.

_So what happens to me now?_ Faith lazily clicked, but she'd turned the sound off. _What happens the next holiday? The next? Christmas. New Year's. Easter. Those are all legit "family holidays", not "get trashed or wasted on candy" holidays like Halloween and all those other days in the summer when you take long weekends and drink beer on the beach. _

_ What happens when the next holidays come? _

_ If I'm still around him. If he's still around me. _

"We have to eat eventually. Shall we venture out? Or I can make toasted cheese sandwiches?"

"I told you. It's _grilled_ cheese."

"And I told you, we call- oh never mind, I'll make omelets." Wesley sighed and got up from his nest of books and papers.

"Suicide rates go up around the holidays. Did you know that?"

"I had heard." _I can see why..._

Faith saw the thinning of lips, the furrowing of brow, but she kept silent. Another holiday. Slipping past like all the other days. Unhappy, oddly lonely days, like all the others.

_I don't want that. If I'm gonna be good, I better not be miserable at the same time. 'Cause what's the point then?_

"Did your folks do the big turkey dinner for Christmas?"

"Sometimes. Or some sort of roast. A breaded ham. Mother didn't cook, the cook- cooked." He concluded with a shrug. _How lovely. You sound like a snob. _

_ I'm a snob whose choices of a holiday meal include either eggs and cheese or bread and cheese heated in a pan on a temperamental stove._ "I'd rather eat toast and eggs with you than have a seven course meal from the finest chef with anyone else." He smiled crookedly and passed her, heading to the fridge.

He didn't expect her to particularly care. Or even to hear. To pay attention. They drifted around each other sometimes, like stars in the night sky. Appearing beside each other from a distance, in reality moving miles apart in a similar patch of universe.

"Buffy and Joyce had me over for Christmas." She was beside him, when he shut the fridge door and straightened up.

"Did they?"

"Funny how that happens. One week you're scraping up change to buy them some little gift at the local gas station, the next week you're killing each other."

"That - doesn't _always_ happen." _It won't happen to us. I won't betray you. It _can't _happen. _

"No. Just a lot." She smiled in the same crooked fashion, eyes so tired under the youthful glow. "Like- one day Mom was sober and stuff, and buying frozen dinners and making sure I had clean clothes... and the next day she passed out by five and your frozen mac and cheese melted in the toaster oven."

_Yet I'm not allowed to pity her. I don't know how to reach that pain without poking it open, making her angrier, making her retreat, close back up. _He tried empathy. "One day you're just the son he is eternally disappointed in. The next day, you're simply disowned. Not even a son."

Faith blinked. "Are you still a daughter if you were never someone's child?"

"I don't know... I'm still waiting to find out if you can ever be a man, when you were such a failure at being a boy."

_My God. Listen to us._

_ Listen to us. Damn, we're sad. Sadder 'cause it's true, and until right now, no one even knew we wondered that shit. Heavy. _

Faith shook her head and placed her palms to either side of it. "Most people on this holiday have to be with relatives who drive them to drink."

"Then we're doing splendidly." Wesley suddenly said, laughing uneasily, so much emotion stirred up and no outlet to release it. "I often find myself wishing for alcohol around you."

"Amen to that. Any Bud in there?"

"Beer with omelets?"

"It's either that or we wallow in self-pity."

"I hate American beer." He still got her one.

"How do you feel about watching four hours of men on trucks trying to hold a two hundred foot of Big Bird balloon in place?" She popped the top on the edge of the counter.

Wesley looked pained. "We could perhaps attempt hugging instead?"

"We don't hug."

"I know, but I really,_ truly_ dislike that swill you drink."

He looked so piteously uncomfortable that she had to laugh. Then sighed. "I could eat."

"I know. That's why I'm standing here with a carton of eggs in my hand." He pointed out patiently.

"Not feeling eggs."

He gave up guessing, just let her speak.

"Think we can find a place that'll take two scruffs like us?"

"One scruff. I have a suit." He teased.

"Then go put it on. You're the one who's going to look like an ass if we end up eating at McDonald's."

* * *

It was a nice restaurant. Crowded. Packed, actually. "Doesn't _anyone_ cook anymore?" Wesley blinked.

"You had to pick the only restaurant in thirty miles that has a menu in a foreign language." Faith kicked him under the table.

"It's French!" He rubbed his sore shin.

"Why are the French celebrating Thanksgiving?" Faith demanded.

"Because, Madame, Monsieur- we all have something to be thankful for." The sommelier came over and interrupted them. He was long practiced at inserting himself between squabbling couples in an attempt to save the dining experience. "And look at the two of you. Such a-" _Very odd couple. But that's love for you. He in his suit and his rakishly combed hair, her with far too much makeup on what could be such a stunning face but- the British and the Americans, what do they know about arranging themselves for the best? That is why one eats in a restaurant like this, not just for the food, but for the presentation. Something only the French can do to perfection._

Done with his inner monologue, he realized he had left the couple hanging in mid-compliment. "Such a lovely couple. So much to rejoice in, yes?" He poured the bottle Wesley had ordered with a practiced hand, a practiced eye. Ah ah ah, no ring. He bowed with an amused smirk and departed. "Your waiter will be over in one moment."

"He looked at my hand. Dude, he totally checked out my hand." Faith growled under her breath.

"Hm? Faith, are you a fan of duck?" His eyes were engrossed by the menu.

"He smirked!"

"He's French. They all smirk." Wesley looked up. Then frowned. "We're beginning to sound like- hm- an old married couple."

"I wouldn't really know. My parents were never around each other enough for me to learn what that sounded like." She shrugged off his comments far more easily than she should have. Partially because she'd thought the same thing a few times before.

"I wouldn't know either. My father married my mother because she was the granddaughter of another Watcher, beautiful, suitable, well connected, and had a comparable amount of money. I rarely heard them converse. He talks, she listens. She talks, and he ignores her, or says, 'Yes, of course, do what you like with the house'." Wesley assumed a gruff, bored, almost patronizing tone.

"Whoa." Faith looked impressed. "That's scary good."

"Being in boarding school most of my life, I haven't had a lot of time to observe, but when the program never changes, you learn the act very quickly."

Faith raised her glass gracefully. "To not being as screwed up as we could be."

"To everything we're missing." He clinked her rim to his.

He watched her drain the burgundy filled goblet with her smoked-cherry lips and made his own silent toast. _And to all the things we have right here..._

* * *

"Did you get it done?"

"Finally, and thank God." Wesley collapsed into the sofa, winced, groaned and teetered the few feet to his bedroom. He sank down on his bed. "Be a helpful person and just pack me along with the books, will you?"

"Headache?"

"Very much so."

He almost yelped when she crashed next to him. Literally. For all the grace she possessed, she could flop down like a cascade of bricks. "Want that stuff from the drug store? That oil of hazel?"

"The witch hazel? Perhaps. Later. Thank you, dear." He murmured and rubbed his temples. "Twenty hours out of the last twenty four spent typing, but it's done, sent, and receipt email has arrived. Deposit should hit by the time we arrive wherever we're going."

"You called me dear." Faith said in a disbelieving, almost upset, tone.

"Did I?" Wesley stopped massaging his brow. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." _No! No it is _not_!_ Her inner bitch was about to storm out and break a few skulls. The only time a guy ever called her dear, or honey, or baby, was- _okay, sex doesn't count. That's like- part of it. You say these empty things. You never mean them. _

_ Dear is an empty thing, a tag on for the boring Brit. Shut up and sit down._ Faith hushed the railing harridan inside her mind.

_The Mayor called you nice little names. Didn't he? Is Wes your new sugar daddy?_

Faith made an angry sound inside, that somehow seeped out. _Shut the fuck up about him. _

"You're mad at me aren't you?" Wesley sighed. "I didn't mean it offensively. It slipped out. And one can have a dear- a dear... associate. F-friend." He risked saying the word aloud.

"Don't say that." She froze, inside, outside, a frightened child trapped under layers of hard, independent woman.

"Dear?" He deflated, knowing that wasn't what she meant.

"The f word."

His brain computed it wrong in a burst of whimsy and offense at her hypocrisy. "You use it all the time!"

She didn't share the whimsy. She hit him with a pillow and stormed off. "I'll get your damn hazel."

* * *

"Where to this time?" They were packing now. It was late, they were rushed.

"I didn't really look anything up, so... whatever."

"We can pick tomorrow, but what state?"

"Florida's still gonna be warm. Especially if we go farther south."

"Florida?"

"Unless you want to go someplace else."

"I don't care." _I'm just stunned. Beyond stunned. It's not the same address, or even the same city for two months in a row, but it is the same state. That's got to be something_. "I think it would be lovely. Provided we avoid all those amusement parks."

"Not a fan of the big mouse?"

"Who?"

"Mickey!"

"Oh, right, yes, Mickey. No, it's not that. It just seems that half of the English uppercrust take a December holiday in that region. At least the ones with children."

"And where do the ones without children go?"

"I have no idea."

"Then we're going to Miami."

"Miami? Why Miami?"

"It's full of hot guys, good sun, hot days, long nights. Plus there's the crime rate and everything is shady and seedy. I fit right in." She grinned and motioned for the roll of tape. "Not all the guys are 'my type', but I can look."

"Does this mean I have to get a tan?"

"You already have a tan, Wes." _And when you take off that shirt- you got pecs. _She subconsciously raked his form. She'd seen him shirtless a lot this month, making patch jobs on his injured shoulder. _ Not so much abs, but pecs, baby. Nothing soft on that body anymore._ From training with her, patrolling with her, literally fighting for his life at times, he was turning into a muscular little whippet of a man.

_With that crooked, slow smile..._

"You can pick the place. In Miami." Faith said quickly. "Here. Tape up your box, I'll get it loaded."

* * *

"I wish you'd mentioned Miami was so expensive." Wesley hollered. He had to. They were in the car, but the car seemed to be in the middle of a neon covered street fair. By the end of the month he'd learn that was simply any beach front street in the city once night fell.

"You're not looking in the right place!" She hollered back.

"Every place I look, you say it's not right!"

"Get back on mainland!"

"I'm not on mainland?" Wesley cast a frantic look around them. "You might have mentioned that earlier!"

"You had your stupid Wagner turned up. I tried." She shrugged innocently. Wesley muttered something decidedly un-innocent and decided that he deserved a reward. A big one.

* * *

"You were the one bitching about the prices!" Faith stared in shock when they pulled up to the tall, glittering, glassy building.

"I complain about any number of things." He said with honest complacency. The sign said "Executive Suites". The smaller sign mentioned monthly, furnished rentals, but it didn't mention how much. That alone meant it was a bad idea.

"You stay here. I'll get this. You can't talk these people down by means of cleavage and intimidation." Wesley got out of the car before his nerve could fail.

"Wanna bet?" Faith shouted after him.

* * *

"Wyndham-Pryce." He said in a voice that his father might actually have approved of. Cold. Condescending. Intimating that the person to whom you were speaking was a mere inconvenience to be dealt with on the way to necessity. "My associates recommended you."

"Oh, we're delighted to hear that Mr. Pryce-"

"_Wyndham_-Pryce." Wesley gave him a flint eyed warning stare. The desk agent agreed quickly, correcting himself.

"Which one of your associates did we have the pleasure of serving?"

Wesley rattled off a list of names vaguely aristocratic sounding to an American ear, a list just long enough to make the man's eyes widen slightly. Ever so slightly, the mark of someone used to not showing surprise, just polite service. "They mentioned your rates were favorable."

"We have several packages-"

"For a man who _doesn't want to be disturbed_." Wesley said significantly, and allowed the man to see past him, to the car parked under the canopied valet area.

Ah. The brooding beauty with full lips and long dark hair. "We could find you something discreet."

"Two bedrooms. Of course."

"Absolutely."

"Nothing exorbitant. Affordable. Nothing that would look out of place on a billing statement. Nothing that would call attention to our presence." _Faith will take care of that the second she sets foot in this place._

The gentleman ran his fingers over a few keys, and motioned, "Bring your car to the South Entrance, Sir. We have something that shouldn't raise any eyebrows. It's not very big, but it would run the same amount as a 'typical' hotel. Especially after I gave you our 'Friend of a Friend' discount."

"Lovely, thank you." Wesley took the slip of paper, the keys, and paid in cash. The clerk smiled knowingly.

* * *

"That was fast."

"Was it?" It had felt like an eternity. "Try not to argue with me too loudly in this place, please."

"Why?"

"It would be helpful." He answered shortly.

"Who are we this time?"

"People in need of making the money last, and not above a little subterfuge to get a cheap room in an expensive place."

"I'm not going to have any trouble getting hired here. The valet already gave me his number."

"What? He's not supposed to fraternize with guests. I could have him sacked!"

"Whoa. Paging Doctor Tight Ass. Welcome back."

"We're going to have to unload everything in the middle of the night. When no one's around."

"What the hell did you tell these people?" Faith wondered in amazement.

He looked at her. "Absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing of importance." _I simply _insinuated _a great deal._

"_My_ kind of nothing wrong, or the _real _nothing wrong?"

"Tell me how you got us the place in Philadelphia." Wesley asked with a blunt change of subject.

Faith suddenly lost interest in his cover story. "I'm up all night anyway, moving boxes in is no big deal." She shrugged and let the matter die.

* * *

"We have internet. In the _flat_!" Wesley was looking through the amenities packet. "There's a pool! There's an exercise facility, a steam room, and complimentary pastry, newspapers, and coffee in the lobby from seven until ten each day." He turned and looked at her triumphantly, "Not to mention-" he reached out and touched a slender white box on the wall, "a thermostat that works!"

"You died and went to heaven, huh?" Faith was containing her excitement. It was fancy. It was sparkling clean and frankly, it was gorgeous. All white and black and modern with bursts of color accents thrown in.

Wesley grinned and reopened the booklet. "There are six clubs and four bars in a five block radius, and the beach is a mile away. That's a two minute brisk run for you, isn't it?"

"Not exactly, but I'm diggin' the bars." Faith peered over his shoulder. "Why the sudden return to lifestyles of the rich and suit-wearing?"

"I thought every six months we deserved a hint of luxury. If we can afford it." _Because it's your birthday in two weeks. Your twenty first. Because you fight so hard, and I see you sweat and scream, I see you fight and fall, and I see you hide every bit of softness. You camouflage it in your surroundings. You'd hew a hole in a mountain for a bed. I know you would. Let the world think you're hard and brittle, with nothing soft underneath. _

_ Maybe I hoped the soft would be fooled into coming out, like some shy chameleon, if I gave it the right surroundings. _

_ Why would I bother to hope for such a thing?_

"Don't you like it?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager, too hopeful.

"No, I like it. I just don't want to get used to it." She assured him. "Hey- a dishwasher!"

"We may not need to bring in anything but the books and clothes. The bedding is beautiful." He had poked his way into one of the rooms.

Small indeed, ha. A silk covered queen size in each room. A full dresser and desk. Book shelves. Filled with actual books. "This one is mine." He claimed it like an eager school boy.

Faith looked at the other room, this time all the way across the living room. They were probably identical. "Fine, I like this one."

"Not much of a view, I'm afraid." A few floors up and they could have seen the ocean. Many floors up and they would see the ocean, the beach, and a twinkling skyline. Here, in the understandably more affordable room- they saw shrubs.

"I like it. It's private." Faith smiled, and his whole frame relaxed. "I've been in Miami before. Vamps looove this place. We're gonna be wicked slammed, man."

"Oh." Wesley's frame lost the relaxed air immediately. "Shall we head out now?"

"Nah. I think I'm gonna go swimming."

"The pool's closed at this hour."

"I know." She winked.

"Do you have a suit?"

"Nope."

"Don't get caught." He pressed a worried hand to his temple where the familiar throbbing was returning. "I doubt we can get our money back."

_Any other guy in the world says "Ooh, can I come, too?" He says don't get caught. _ Faith made an inaudible impatient noise and turned away, making a circuit of the place while he went about unpacking his laptop and the few things he'd put in his satchel.

Faith watched him via his reflection in the window that she was staring out of. _He cares more about what happens to us this month, more than his cock getting a little happy right now. _

So frustrating. She really liked it. She really hated it. She liked things she could understand. Not that she couldn't understand Wes, she just couldn't put him in the neat molds she put people in anymore. Watchers are stuffed shirt jerks. Men are beasts who use you, who want something from you.

Friends are imaginary or impossible. Kind of in the "there's no such thing" category. You have to believe in someone to have them exist.

_Man, it's easier to believe in the monster under the bed._

"Actually, I'm dying to check out the silk sheets. That looks like the ultra bed experience." Faith turned her head towards the bedroom.

Another easy opening he completely ignored. "I agree! It'll be wonderful not to wake up with a spring sticking into my spine. I don't think I've had a proper night's sleep since we stayed with Mrs. Baker."

"You're too soft, Wes."

"Not anymore. My back probably has callouses on it after last month's concrete-filled mattress." He quipped.

Faith laughed. God. She really did like this guy. "Rest up, then. See ya."

* * *

He took more jobs than he probably should have. He didn't want to leave them short with his little foray into gracious living.

She knew he was worried about money. He wouldn't talk about it this time, because it was "his choice", but she knew. _It's not like it's his fault. I didn't make any money for a whole month. He's floated this damn ship for-_ Faith tried to figure out the amount of months and stopped quickly. Thinking about that number, listing the places, watching it climb- made her feel seasick. _Not the point. Point is that when I can earn, I do._

She broke the security tag out of a blood-red bikini, slayer strength crushing it like a peanut shell. The whole thing was only a handful of fabric. She slipped it into her pocket and left the store unnoticed. She went into another stop in the myriad of crowded stores and boutiques, to change. Bikini top. Low slung jeans. All her scars healed. Lips plumped, mascara on, and she strolled the club strip.

"You look busy." She purred when she found her mark. The smallest bar, the most stressed out manager, shaking up frothy pink and peach drinks while his staff and servers were frantically taking orders, and then getting waylaid by the air of partying and flirting that permeated this whole area.

A good bartender laughs and smiles, even if he'd rather yell, "No shit, genius. Order or leave."

Faith ducked under the bar counter's partition when some blonde bubble butt waitress went in. "Hey! You can't-"

Faith took bubble butt's slips and reloaded her tray with a practiced hand. "Sex on the Beach, two Long Islands, a martini, and a Stoli Gibson. Please tell me that's not just from one table?" Faith started reaching for ingredients. _I'm gonna get arrested or hired... Please let it be hired. I'd hate to play the bold card, and also the "punching out people card so now I can't go anywhere in this part of town" card on my second day..._

"No, it's two tables."

"Thank God, and give me a couple." Faith could feel the manager staring, probably with his mouth open in shock, or clenching up in fury.

Blondie left, and he finally spoke, still making drinks with a frenzied demeanor. "You don't work here."

"Then call it volunteering." Faith made the drinks smoothly and quickly. If anyone had bothered to really watch her, they would have noticed the unnatural speed, the abnormally sure hands as she reached for things, caught bottles, took glasses, put everything back. The Slayer package._ Speed, skills, and hand-eye coordination. It's not just for slaying vamps anymore..._ She smiled cockily to herself.

"But-"

"See, I'm in town for a month, livin' the high life. But I get bored easy. And you look like you have an exciting little place here. Order!" She finished the drinks and beckoned Blondie back over. "So how about I give you my number..." Faith took another slip and started on another order, "and then you call me when you need some help. Or, if I go stir crazy-" she popped a cherry in her mouth, stem and all, dramatically de-stemming with her flexible tongue it as he watched with a look of awed confusion,"I pop in, and you let me work for a couple hours. Tips only." She swallowed the fruit, and spat out the stem, finished making another martini, all in the space of a moment.

"Are you an illegal?" The guy paused before leaping at the offer he so obviously wanted to take.

_You have no idea. _"No! Dude, I'm from Boston." Faith laughed.

"Oh. I mean. Well. We could use the help. Winter, and around the holidays, people take off, some of my servers are heading home for Christmas break, and then all the people who decide to use the Christmas break to come to Miami and visit all the retired grandparents-" He shook his head. "It's a mess."

"How long you been managing?" I_'m gonna bet under a year..._

"Here? Four months. I used to work out in Cocoa Beach, but then I-"

"Didn't want the life story." She cut him off and yelled, "Order!" Another tray sent off, another bunch of slips in. "You make these. I gotta work the actual bar if I'm just living off tips. Unless you feel like paying a girl an hourly rate on top of that?"

"I would need you to fill out your W-2s and-"

"No time. Only in a town a month. Hey, boys!" Faith was gone, down to the end of the bar where guys were swarming, waiting to order. She pushed her shoulders back, her bikini covered cleavage up, and tossed her hair. "Who wants something short and hard? Not me, I like it long and hard... C'mon if you want shots, I'll take you first, let's get this crowd down!"

* * *

"Dear Lord. You look like the cat who ate an entire cage of canaries. Did you slay something particularly viciously?" Wesley smiled and looked up from his work.

"No. Just workin' my new outfit." She peeled her tee shirt off over her head to reveal the scarlet suit top underneath.

"Oh, did you go to the beach?" Wesley blinked quickly.

"Nope. The bar." She took the roll of cash out of her jeans pocket and put it down in front of him.

"Good Lord!"

"Mainly singles and fives, don't look so shocked." But people were paying with a LOT of singles and fives.

"You don't need to -" Wesley began to push the money back towards her, only to find her holding up an equally sizable wad from the other pocket. "Ah."

"I don't play well with others, but sometimes I share." She winked and walked off. "Now that I have the suit, I'm totally trying out the pool. You comin'?"

_I don't have a suit. Or time to splash about._ "Not just now. Thank you."

* * *

"Not to go all parent on you- and not that my parent ever said this- but if you sit so close to the screen, aren't you gonna hurt your eyes?"

"This print. It's very small..." Wesley squinted.

"Do I need to go kick some translator-y behind? Tell them to send you large print?"

"I'm not reading a manuscript, I'm reading the Miami coroner's report. I did my hacking attempt again." Wesley sat back and looked at her.

"Oh? What'd you find?"

"A lot of bodies dumped in the water."

"Hate to tell your lily white self, Wes, but that's where mob snitches and drug runners run wrong usually end up dumped. It's easier than ditching a car with a body in the trunk."

"Bodies of people who didn't drown, who weren't shot, and who weren't weighted down. All stabbed in the neck with an ice pick or other long, pointed weapon."

"That's just sloppy." Faith critiqued.

Wesley's brow twitched. _Sloppy. Yes. Untidy_._ How coldly, how callously we put it. _"Sounds like you have a vampire, possibly several, to deal with. Excuse me, I need to call the London office and ask about something."

Faith frowned in his wake. "You got something on your mind, you can just say it." She called after him.

"I have a lot on my mind. Nothing worth saying." He tried to shrug it off and smile easily. _Because I know this life makes you hard and callous. That if you stopped to weep for every victim, you'd drown in tears. Because she and I, we don't cry. We barely laugh anymore._

There had been a peak, and this was the valley. The joy of getting back into the game turned into a mirthless existence of playing for your life and lives of others every night.

_This is being a Watcher. This is being a Slayer. The Slayers die soon, and the Watchers turn into empty vessels with cold hearts full of words, not feelings. _

_ We have to find something to help us survive this life. _

_ I want this life. I want her in this life. I want to _live_ it with her. Not die a day at a time. _

He made his call, knowing something had to change, but he didn't know what it was.

* * *

He'd left the coroner's website up. Faith sat down and read the screen. Hm. Eight bodies since October. Hungry and sloppy, maybe turning more, maybe others hadn't been found yet, maybe others had been fed from and let go. _If you're going to set up shop, you can't just leave bodies lying around. _

_When did I stop seeing people? When did I start to call them bodies, and stop wondering who they were, just wondering how many there were?_

_ Probably when you start making bodies. You can't take someone's life if you think about them, wondered who they were before you stabbed them through the hear,t slit their throats... if they had a wife. Kids. Grandkids. _She realized she couldn't even clearly remember the face of the professor she'd killed for the Mayor. Just that he was old and he was trusting.

She shook herself.

_I never wondered that shit. I care about what I can do _now_, kill the bastards. It's too late to worry about that I can't change. _

_ Only a couple bodies I ever gave a damn about. Mine is one._

_ One Kakistos took._

_ The other one has to be Wes's. Long as that body keeps on breathing, then I don't have to start over again._

_ I don't have to feel too much. I don't have to care or any of that shit. _

_ Other people can cry and send flowers. I just wanna slay the sons of bitches._

* * *

"You're gonna sweat to death."

"I don't own any resort wear." Wesley reminded her.

"Then buy some, Moneybags."

"Oh honestly..."

"You stick out. You're gonna get your pocket picked down there."

"Well you're going to be at a disadvantage as well. I speak Spanish fluently- if with a questionable accent..."

"I don't need to understand what they say. No heartbeat is the universal language." She smiled saucily and put her hair up, piling it into a curly bun where locks escaped and cascaded.

"Are you wearing heels?" His eyes widened as he looked down.

"It's the closest I can get to doing the helpless female. But I hate 'em." Faith pouted her glossy lips and then smiled. "Maybe it's good you're Mr. Out of Style. These damn capri jeans and the stupid heels are totally cutting into my arsenal." She handed Wesley three knives. "Hold these for me, will ya?"

_All the henpecked husbands in the world asked to hold purses, and my female companion hands me an assortment that would make Bowie jealous_. "Of course." He smiled slightly. He tucked them into the much faded jacket, now bearing a stone-washed khaki look. Apparently even the best dry cleaners in the state and an entire gallon of stain remover could only do so much for demon blood on fabric. At least demon blood that utterly _soaked_ the fabric. "You do look lovely."

"You look okay yourself." Stubbled, minus glasses, stiff, straight shoulders and hair that was getting just a little bit too long. Something like a good boy gone bad.

That kind never appealed to her. She liked her boys to be bad. Once bad, always bad, just not in bed.

"I'm seeing a barber as soon as I can this week. I can't stand my hair like this one more moment." Wesley grumbled.

"C'mon Wilma." Faith rolled her eyes and tugged his wrist. "We'll get you some curlers while we're out kicking asses."

"I've had enough speculations about my supposed transvestitism, thank you." He said primly, shaking off her hand.

"God. You talk_ way_ too much. Where we're going, just try to look like you're pissed off and thirsty. And maybe like you've done time."

Wesley blanched. "I don't even know what expressions one would use to -"

Faith turned and grabbed his shoulders, speaking slowly. "One would not say 'one'. Unless one wants the shit kicked out of one, or one wants a broken bottle through one's face."

* * *

Wesley felt like he was drowning in a sea of sweat. Not his own, that would be unpleasant, but allowable. The sweat of others. Scantily clad women who wore neon and nude strips of nylon, who sold "beers" for twenty dollars and then sat down beside you, "flirting" where hands couldn't be seen. Loud music, all of it in Spanish, screamed and scrambled through the crackling amplifiers, while swarthy men shouted obscenities, laughed and argued, and everyone drank. Everyone but him. The women wouldn't approach.

"I think you're scaring them off!" He shouted directly into Faith's ear.

"What?" She shouted back.

"You! With me! You're scaring off the waitresses!"

"We have to split up! No one's gonna come near a couple!" She screamed.

"I just said that!"

"What?"

He resorted to hand gestures, and pushed her gently from his side. "Stay in sight." He mouthed slowly, once they had eye contact again. She nodded and moved, her hips on instant sway, her most feminine top, that red and white creation she'd worn for Halloween, fluttering around her rolling shoulders.

Wesley marveled. Not one second apart and she could join in with anyone. _She's so alive. She just has this passion for life._

_ Well, for the fast, painfully bright parts._ _Sadly, she doesn't seem to feel all the other things, the slow parts, the simple moments. At least, not all the time_. She was swinging from man to man to woman to man again, arms draping across shoulders, smiling seductively, shaking bust and shoulders with loud laughs, and then off again, her hips leading the way. He followed her at a distance, squeezing through a sea of bodies and trying not to end up with liquor on him.

_She changes when she slays. I change when I Watch._ With gnawing worry he kept fighting through the ocean of living waves, desperate not to let her slip from his sight._ Why in the world is she moving so fast?_

Faith targeted him within seconds of leaving Wesley's side. A man in a leather jacket, laughing and drinking, cigarette flying in his fingertips. A man who seemed perfectly at ease, comfortable.

_Who can hear in this place? Who's in leather and not sweating when it's five-effing-hundred degrees in here? A man without pores who can lip read, or- way more likely- a vampire._ Faith navigated the cantina style dive bar while internally cursing her decision to wear heels. Fitting in with the rich bitch wintering in Miami set was one thing, breaking your neck before you even throw the first punch was another.

"Hey, Baby." Faith came up behind him, trying to look blissed out, running her hand over the faded brown leather of his jacket. "I love your coat..."

He turned. "Yeah, Chica? You like what's under it even better." She purred and put her hand on his chest.

Silent. No pulse. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, hoping he wouldn't have caught the momentary dilation in her eyes when she realized she'd been right. "Mmm, definitely."

"You dance, little mama?"

"Only with the bid daddies." Faith licked her lips.

"Oh, I'm lucky tonight."

"Sure are, Baby."_ Let's hope I'm lucky, too. _

"There's no room to dance in here. You wanna go upstairs?"

"Huh?"

"Not like that, Chica, don't you worry." The double r rolled into a quiver against her skin, his cool finger tips delicately traced her chin, her bare shoulder, her bare belly, roaming her as he led. "There's a rooftop. VIP access. Just through this hall and up the back stairs. A little trip to heaven, munequita."

"Wow. You're a VIP?"

"And when you're with me, you're one special lady. Such a gorgeous one."

_Damn those Rs_. Faith was mesmerized by the sound and she didn't mind, for a second, when he rolled them against her ear. A low down throb ached inside her. She saw the sudden cruel tint in his smile, hidden under sensuality. _Dead give away. Smells you're wet, smells you're hot. God dammit. Where is Wes?_

They came to a door in a narrow hall, painted plum purple, guarded by a burly, blank faced man. "VIP pass?"

"I don't need one."

"Says who? You can't come-"

"Yes, we can. I'm the only one allowed up tonight. Remember me?" The vampire said smoothly, eyes locking, voice rocking, smoothing out the frown in the guard's face.

_He thralls. That explains getting the other kind of vibe. Great. But I'm not one who's gonna get thralled. Thrall is just demon bull. Bull never worked on me._

"Come on, Chica. I'll show you the stars like you have never seen..." He pushed the door open, and the man stood silently, letting them pass.

* * *

"Excuse me, I need to get up there. That lady- uh- left her lights on. On her car." Wesley tried to skirt the guard at the door.

"Sorry, private party. You have to have an invitation."

"I have this. Does this work?" He held up a twenty.

"No."

"Does this?" Wesley rushed the burly man at close range, slamming his thick, bald head into the wall. The man blinked up, stunned, mouth open, eyes unfocused. "Terribly sorry." The Watcher ran.

* * *

"Don't you love this view? The whole city sparkles. But not like your eyes."

_Wes, if I have to listen to one more corny pick up line... _

"Turn here. Look out, and you can see the harbor lights in the bay."

_He's putting himself between me and the rooftop door. And- oh look. Oh goody. A body of water._ She reached for her stake, and felt him running his hands along her sides, his arms wrapping around her, getting tighter- "I'm cold. Man, I know it's hot, but I just got a real bad chill." She lied, trying to get him to back up.

"I'll warm you up, Chica."

"Can I borrow your jacket?" _So you get your demony hands off my ass?_

"I don't think you'll need it..."

"I still kinda want it." Faith turned sharply. The time for subtlety was over. So not her thing anyway. She reached for her stake in her capri pocket, only to find herself slammed back into air, knees on the edge of the rooftop. "Whoa!"

"Oh, I won't let you fall." The purr turned into a panther-like growl as the handsome Latino features rearranged themselves. "What a waste that would be..."

"When a lady asks for your coat, a gentleman gives it to her. A true gentleman wouldn't even wait to be asked. He offers." Wesley appeared, disheveled and breathless, but there when it mattered.

_ My back up is here. He's going to do an etiquette lesson while I try to keep my balance in these heels. Or- _Faith suddenly hopped out of them, broke the vampire's grasp and ducked down. "These cost me a lot of money, so you better have a good answer..." She used one stiletto as a makeshift stake, plunging it into the vamp's arm as he grabbed for her again.

He howled, yellow eyes suddenly blazing as he jerked the accessory slash weapon free and sent it hurtling off the roof.

"Dammit! I _just_ said those were expensive! Stupid vampire piece of shit!" In reply something was cursed back at her, but in Spanish.

Wesley called to her, "He says that you-"

"I got the gist, Wes!" Faith stayed low, moved fast, away from hands that could hurl her from the rooftop, away from teeth that could bite.

"What are you? A Slayer?" He kicked hard, caught her wrist. Faith winced briefly and pushed him back.

Wesley loaded his crossbow, and moved in. _Not making the same mistake twice. And that was Faith's bad wrist. Brute. _The crossbow collapsed, went back to his pocket, and one of her knives came out, the largest of the three she'd asked him to hold.

"Yeah, I'm the Slayer. I'm the bad one though. I don't play nice, and I don't let you live." Faith growled.

"You won't be in any position to let- aghhh!" The vampire stopped in mid-threat. So busy being concerned about the Slayer, he'd neglected the puny little man who lectured him. The puny little man had a very big knife, and it was now embedded in his back.

"Move! I got this!" Faith pushed the vamp down, driving the knife in deeper, then straddling him, stake finally out, and pointed at his heart.

"Not a fair fight, Chica." The vampire wheezed, and writhed, trying to take the pressure off the the metal she was forcing him to take ever deeper. "Two on one."

"Biting girls after you bring them up here for dancing and star gazing isn't cool either, so shut up." Faith slammed his back down to the stone roof slates, grinding the knife into the hilt and beyond. "You're not the only one, are you?" No answer. The stake made a plunge - about an inch too far down.

"No! No, I'm not!" He groaned.

"How many?" No answer. "Do I have to make a dot-to-dot pattern? Go through all the vital organs 'til I hit the heart?" She pretended to ponder. "I know they don't work anymore, but do they still hurt when you drive a wicked big piece of wood through them?"

"Not... many here." He gasped.

"More than five?"

"Maybe, I don't know!" He struggled. "Sometimes we turn one we like. I would have turned you, Chica. I still can... You can be young and just as beautiful as you are tonight, for a thousand years." His eyes and his voice stroked her mind, a desperate attempt to control her. Her hands tightened, but her eyes didn't blink. He smiled, "Slayers die so young and you will live forever as one of-"

Faith gasped and her hands jerked as Wesley's arrow pierced the kneecap.

"Don't." Wesley said quietly, dispassionately. "Don't try that again."

Faith blinked up at him. The grim mouth. Hard eyes. If that arrow could smoke, it would be. "Take it easy, Slick." She cautioned in an uncertain voice. "I know a thrall when I hear one." She turned her full attention back to the vamp. "Okay, so you don't know the exact number. Do you know where?"

"Why should I tell you? You're gonna kill me anyway."

"True." Faith reached down and broke one of his fingers with a simple brutality in her eyes. "But I can make it hurt a lot, or a little."

_What the hell are we becoming?_ "Faith. Just end it. We'll find out another way. We are- merciful." Wesley swallowed. "We are not murderers. Nor torturers."

"Oh, I am. I am, Wes. Both." Faith sat back, and looked at him. "You don't even wanna _know_ what I would have done to Buffy when I had the chance. Angel had way too many nasty little toys in that place of his."

He shivered despite the warm breezes. "_My _Faith doesn't-"

His Faith went flying backward as the demon suddenly kicked both his legs up hard, and Wes went down under a hundred fifty pounds of slavering, pained demon who wanted to make him pay for ramming a knife in his back.

"Your girl_ is _a demon." He spat.

"We all have- our- demons!" Wesley countered fiercely, used all his strength and rolled, hand around the monster's back, finding a slippery handle, yanking it free, and plunging it back in- higher this time. Through the cervical area. Eyes widened, then closed. A few inches of wiggling, and the head would be "off" enough for the vampire to turn to dust. Wesley kicked him the now unconscious figure to the side, and got to his knees.

"Wait."Faith was scooting up behind him, reaching for the vampire.

"He can't possibly tell us anything, Faith. Demon or not, I've just about disconnected his brain stem and - what are you doing?"

"I said I wanted this." She grabbed jacket and tugged.

"Why? It's far too warm and we don't need some 'trophy'."

"It's not a trophy." She grunted. "It's 'cause... it's a- leather jacket. For Jimmy Dean." Faith yanked it down, breathing unevenly as she struggled to pry it off. There was one long, narrow hole, but it was an awesome coat, one they could get fixed. She shook it out, over the prone arms, and tossed it roughly at Wes who snagged it, wide eyed. She finished off the vamp with a single swipe of her hand, and stared at her Watcher across a pool of dust.

He stared at the bundle in his arms, feeling confused, instantly admiring the jacket, as she put it, for "Jimmy Dean." But he wanted no spoils from some vampire who could just as easily have taken their lives. "Why?"

" 'Cause you're a badass." Faith got up slowly. "You still do it your way. Fighting, killing-" She looked at him briefly, "saving people... you get it done."

Wesley was touched. _She believes in me._ "Oh, that's such a lovely thing to say, Faith. Considering everything we've-"

"I know, I know. Hallmark worthy. C'mon, Mr. Dean. Let's go find my shoe. I'm never wearing them on patrol again, but if I ever got go someplace fancy, it's good to know my footwear could totally dust a guy."

He nodded, then looked apprehensive. "Um."

"What?"

"Is there another way down?"

"Maybe if you got wings, why?"

"I incapacitated the bouncer."

"Oh, baldy downstairs? He was thralled. He should be fine now that Romeo's dead."

"No... I - eh-hm._ I_ incapacitated him. Then I jammed the bar at the door at the bottom of the stairwell with the fire extinguisher. But I'm sure he's fully awake by now, and probably quite angry."

"You? You took out a bouncer?"

"Hrm. I rammed his head into the wall."

She was impressed. "Knew you had it in there. Always the straight laced ones- full of surprises."

"Ah, yes. I suppose. At least worthy of a new jacket."

"Yeah." _No. Not because you can throw down. Although, good to know. _

_It's because you said "My Faith". I thought I'd hate it, but when you said it to me, I didn't. Love it. Loved the way you weren't ashamed to say I belong with you. Not _to_ you. I know the difference. _

_ It's because you'll watch me about to go marathon man on some vamp, watch me start to slide, and you still keep believing in me. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a torturer. I'm a Slayer, and he's my Watcher. He believes in me, so I can spot him a little belief. Just a little. _

_ We're kinda awesome together. _

_Yeah. I said that. _

_ In my head. I'm not gonna tell_ him. _Dude's got a fricking library in his skull. Let him figure it out._

"I'll go down first. If that guy is awake, I'll tell him I haven't seen anyone on the roof. He'll figure you're hiding someplace in the cantina. If that doesn't work, I'll make up something. I'll get rid of him somehow. When he goes, I'll whistle."

"And I come running." He teased and was rewarded with one of those truly sweet smiles she seemed to save just for him.

* * *

She went to the exercise room, preparing to work off the last bit of tension by beating the heavy bag into submission.

He went to his room, to his journal, ready to cool the adrenaline by reading and writing their story until his eyes were too heavy to stay open.

Wesley was chronicling this night, his worries, his frustrations about how they could survive the life set out for them without becoming something they hated. Again. _How do we become something new, while we try desperately to do ancient jobs?_

_ Buffy and Giles have mastered it. They love each other. Like father and daughter. _

_ I don't feel at all paternal towards her. Not even fraternal. Familial, yes, I suppose so, if only I knew what a family felt like. When I think of the word, it just feels cold, all about names and bloodlines, meeting expectations, failing them. When I think of her, all I feel is warmth. _

_ Even heat._

He swallowed. He shouldn't be writing that. But who else would ever see it? _They'll find it after my death, but no one will claim it. Perhaps Giles would., if he's still knocking about. Or Faith. Faith wouldn't keep a dusty old book. She'd give it to Giles and he'd discreetly tuck it away. He wouldn't read another man's journal. I won't be alive to care, but there you have it. Twenty seven years of being in mortal fear of looking foolish, and being told you are. Even death doesn't preclude the worry. _

_ To quote Faith, "Screw it."_

His pen started across the page again.

_I don't suppose it's so strange that I feel as if she's the best friend I ever had, even if we've nothing in common, aside from the horrible things, and the supernatural veins of our lives._

_ I think Giles and Buffy would say they are true friends as well. If Faith knew I compared our relationship to theirs, she would most likely attack me with one of her new __shoes (see above)._

He sighed, considered that, and kept going in spite of his misgivings.

_ It's simply because they are the only pair I know of who treat each other as friends and family, not merely assigned duties. I know many Watchers and Slayers have bonded, in some sort of respectful mentor- student relationship. _

_ But our relationship is bound to be different. We're not operating under the Council. We live in the same home- wherever that may be. We- _The pen took another hiatus. -_have no one else in our lives aside from the most perfunctory of interactions, a work phone call, a bartender she keeps on a string for a few weeks before she leaves town. _

_Not to mention our ages, it's extremely unlikely to have a Watcher and Slayer even twenty years apart, let alone _

Wesley blinked. "It's December," he realized aloud. He concluded his entry hastily.

_sharing the same decade. She'll be twenty one in just a few days. I haven't bought her anything. I think I ought to. I don't think she'd like it if I did. I also think there's every possibility she'll accept it as a matter of course, with one of her patented flirtatious smirks and some remark about my taste or my spending habits, playfully barbed. _

_ She is so wickedly sharp, yet most of the time, her words don't sting anymore. That's enough of a gift for me._

* * *

_To be continued..._


	20. Chapter 20

**Finding Faith **

**by Sweetprincipale**

_Between Season 3-4, a spinoff set in the Offers You Can't Refuse AU. (Please read that first.) A woman broken enough to believe she can't be saved. A man who knows he has nothing left to lose. Desperation, fear, and some hidden strengths throw these two together, stubbornly determined to show the world who they really are, who they can be- if they can just figure it out for themselves._

_Author's Note: Mushiness. Has that ever happened in this story? Well, I feel like this chapter has some mush to it, so I'm warning all of you._

_Author's Second Note: If some statements/ thoughts are repetitive (for the piece, not just the chapter) forgive me. Like many people, Faith and Wesley do a little stock-taking around big dates in their lives- live Christmas, birthdays, and six-months into a new situation. You can only imagine how much reflection would happen if all those events were coming in close proximity, right?_

_Dedicated to: Ginar369, Omslagspapper( Artistic Consultant), Sirius120, lolo1406, Lou, Illusera, Alkeni, bookwarnedbookworm,Soaringclaws, The-Darkness-Befalls, and the kind guest reviewers whose names I don't know._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine. **_

**Part XX**

_Thankful_

"Any luck?"

"Some minor demon chick. Succubus or something. They don't dust and now my knife is all goopy."

"Ah yes. Goopy demons." He chuckled. "How was the shift?"

"To use one of your big ass words, _lucrative_. The bikini with the heels- man, that look makes people drop cash. There are some foot freaks, you know?"

"I've heard, but -not the details. And I really don't want to." He was quick to assure.

"Sweet." She lay back on the plush leather couch. Leather did things to her. Silk did things to her. She told herself that she was a sense whore, lusting after everything softer, slicker, harder, brighter, sharper... _It's been way too long if I get wet just lying on a couch. Lying on a couch in _this. She looked at the red cups of the swim top. Hard nipples poked up through thin fabric.

She had numbers in her pocket. Numbers written on twenties and tens, business cards and beer stained napkins. Any one of them would be over here inside an hour, inside her for an hour, then gone in an hour.

She didn't call them._ I can't fuck someone with Wes in the next room, translating instruction manuals on industrial freezer compressors to put a roof over our heads while I'm riding someone to death on silk sheets._

_ I could always go to their place._

_ While he sits up and worries where I am._

_ I could always just tell him I have a date._

That idea never received an answering rebuttal. Her system stonewalled it. It disgusted her.

_Random sex with random guys disgusts me? Yeah, kinda. Man, when did _that _happen? Next I'll be wearing my hair in pig tails and keeping my knees pressed together, "like a lady"._

With a snort, she tossed one leg up over the back of the couch and sprawled, reaching for the remote. "I'll keep it on low."

"Fine." He looked up. Couldn't look away.

"What?"

"I- I was thinking I ought to at least use that pool once before we move on at the end of the month. I must pick up some trunks tomorrow when I get the groceries."

"Oh, yeah." Faith reached into her jeans, arching her hips off the couch as she did so to get at her back pocket, "Grocery money or gas money, whatever." A roll of bills that she held aloft and then lay gently on the sloping inner curve of her torso, between breasts and navel.

"Thank you. You save it if you like. I've heard via an email from Mr. Barnolden that I can expect a Christmas bonus."

"Oh, man. Christmas. That's one reason I love spending the winter out of Boston, someplace warm. No cold, no snow, and no pine trees with those stupid lights until the last minute."

"You don't like Christmas?" It wouldn't surprise him, given her dislike of Thanksgiving.

"I don't hate it, I just don't- celebrate it. Much. I tried." S_trung up lights from the five and ten. Bought a Santa cookie once. _She usually ended up with gifts from the family she was with during the holidays, or even from her mom when they lived together. Anything from her mom, she always found something that she tried so hard to love, even if it was completely the wrong thing. Like new wrong size pants and a Barbie doll coloring book. Things her mom gave her were special. They just didn't last.

Things from the foster folks or the social worker or the group home- those didn't last either. You couldn't take 'em with you when you ran. Never had a present to keep.

"It _is_ rather hard when you're new in a community." Wesley agreed, and didn't mention family.

"Yeah. Santa doesn't know our address, and I'm pretty sure I'm on his naughty list." She smiled, tongue curling in front of her teeth with a wicked grin that meant she didn't care, she liked being one of the bad girls.

"It's not really about gifts."

"Yeah, it is."

"No..."

"Yes."

"The Christmas spirit is intangible, it's-"

"Dude, do _not_ pull some reforming Scrooge lesson on me."

"Fine. You celebrate in your way, I in mine."

"What_ is_ your way?"

He didn't answer. He had just realized he didn't exactly know now.

"There are other days to mark." Wesley concluded stiffly. Faith stared at him blankly. "Aren't there?"

"You mean like Hanukkah?"

He sighed and went back to typing.

* * *

She was sitting at the table. Hair back, frowning. Spitting. Frowning again and scrubbing away at thick blades. Wesley silently stopped peering in through the front door, and made his entrance. He couldn't have asked for better timing.

"Would you stop spit shining your knives? It's not that I don't find it _terribly _ladylike, it's that it's beginning to corrode the metal." He pushed into the suite talking loudly, shaking his head reprovingly at her.

_Someone's in a good mood if he comes in ready to have a little verbal throw down. _"What're you sayin' Watcher-boy?" She held the knife up threateningly, but with a smirk.

"I'm saying you have a vinegar tongue, Sourpuss."

"Sourpuss?" She gaped. An insulting nickname? Faith laughed. "Dude, you putting some other kind of leaves in your tea?"

He looked at her over the blade, inches from it, and winked as he put down a small tin bottle, dropping it gently on her knee. "Nothing untoward."

"Anti-Oxidation Metal Polish." Faith read the label as she caught the sliding bottle. "Oh wow. This is the _good_ stuff."

"The very best. I had to drive all the way out to a knife and gun dealer in Hialeah for that." He preened slightly.

"I love it." She was immediately up, getting a rag made from one of her torn, thin cotton tanks, and poured the polish on before rushing back. "Oooh. Yeah baby, like quicksilver." She purred as the knife instantly gleamed.

"You and your knives." He chuckled.

"You and your books." She countered, watching the blood and solidified gore peel right off.

_All the things we croon over and touch lovingly, since we can't touch- _His mind halted. _Since we can't touch others. _

"Happy birthday, Faith." He took out the second item in the brown bag he was carrying.

Ornate shadow markings on the silver surface. Leather wrapped handle with indented grip. A curling script F halfway down the blade.

This made the Mayor's knife look like vending machine kiddy stuff. This was- this wasn't just a thing of beauty, this was _hers_. "Christmas?" She breathed.

"Happy birthday." He smiled. "I thought this was more practical and to your taste than cards or flowers, and I buy your little sugary food dyed treats all the time, so ...for your birthday. If you don't like it I can return it, or we can-"

"I love it." Faith said simply, fingers tracing her initial. "I can't imagine how much this-"

"It was a gift. One doesn't question the value of gifts."

"Wes... I... Thanks." She tried to find something witty to say and couldn't.

"Here. It comes with a lifetime warranty against rusting and breakage." He handed her a stiff printed piece of card stock. "So it'll last you."

She took the piece of paper with a blank look, not really reading any of the typed words. Simply staring. _Something that lasts a lifetime._ Her insides crushed down, then expanded. "I love it." She repeated.

"You- look like you don't." He was forced to say, though he didn't want to. She looked nearly tearful, pale, and mildly sick.

"Do I have to show you?"

"What?"

She moved so slowly, yet so fast. Deliberately was the word. He saw her coming, yet like a tidal wave, there was no force to distance yourself from it once you were in its path.

Knives rested on the table, the stinging smell of polish in the air, and her body against his.

Much too much against his.

"I love it." She repeated, biting his lower lip before her tongue snaked across his. "Love it." Hands down, suddenly gripping his belt. Sliding lower. Touching what was starting to bulge.

He was lost, overwhelmed, lightheaded from the fumes, and from her. She spun him, and he spun her, and they crashed onto the wide, luxuriously soft black leather sofa.

"I want you to be happy." He managed to rasp, though he didn't know how. He was kissing her eagerly, his hands frantically retrieving hers, lifting them up, away from the intimate areas. _We can't rush. _

_ Are we rushing? Where are we going? _

In a haze he arched up and brought her down to his chest, a long, joyful kiss. _Only a kiss, a moment of pure giddiness, a birthday surprise for us both. _

"This is how I like to do my thank you notes." She teased and her shirt began to roll up, over ribs. He sat up. Happy look gone.

"What?"

"I was teasing. I'm just showing you I-"

"You don't have to show me anything." The arousal was gone. The other feeling wasn't, this mad desire to hold her and taste her, to look at her smile, see her happy.

"I didn't mean it like that." Her hands went to move past the words, went to touch him, touch herself, show him it wasn't complicated, and it was ... not payment. A gift.

"Are you sure?" He gripped her wrist, halting her hands.

She hesitated. Just one second too long to be true. "No."_ Dammit. Can't you lie? Of course I meant it like that. I meant it in a nice way! I meant- let me give you a good time. Let me show you I'm happy. Let me make you happy. _

"Oh. I don't-"

"You don't want me? Felt like you did." She wasn't angry, a first, maybe just cynical.

"I want you. I am truly thankful to have you in my life. I want that more than anything."

"Well, you kinda killed the mood."

"What kind of mood was that?" He asked softly. _Tell me it was romantic. Innocent, Celebratory. Maybe too quick, but nothing bad. Tell me you want this for us, not just for me, or for you, and I'll believe you. I _do_ believe in you._

She shrugged. "Like- nothing major, Wes. Birthday kicks, y'know?"

"I see."

"Is that bad?" She challenged.

"No! No of course not." Wesley swallowed."I know what you mean. At least, I believe I understand. I don't think - that I can have something - like that." He faltered out, trying to understand, trying not to offend.

"Like what? It's not complicated. It's just humans doing the human thing. It doesn't mean anything."

"I don't mean anything?" He cocked his head, a sad smile on his face.

_He means so effing much. _

She didn't even know how it happened. How one minute she'd wanted to fuck him, one minute wanted to scream at him, and now- she wrapped her arms around him tight, crushingly tight, and felt him do the same, pulling him close, words falling away.

_You mean a lot. I'm going to hold onto you. You won't let me do it my way. Maybe I'm losing my way. _

_ Maybe I'm finding it. _

"Do not. say. a_ word_, Wes."

"Shh. I won't. I won't." He tentatively stroked her hair. Her head lay across his shoulder, cheek pressed to it.

_I never hugged anyone before. Like- like I skipped all the steps. I liked the guy, we screwed, we were done. _Once upon a hundred times ago, she'd tried to follow the pattern, and it hadn't worked. She felt fake and felt played, and decided the only thing about "relationships" were the fucking and the part where it was done.

_ I don't want to be done with this guy... _"I don't know what I'm supposed to do sometimes, y'know?" She admitted in a small, semi-scared voice.

"Nor do I."

"I hate feelings and stuff."

"Very inconvenient. Disorderly." _Probably why so many I know have dismissed them..._

"I get stuck in places. I usually can move before I get stuck but-"

"You want to move forward, but you have to walk very carefully, because falling is so painful?"

_There's no pain unless you let yourself feel. _Her mouth overrode her brain's coaching. "Pretty much. And I'm not a hugger."

"I know." _Yet, here we are. Embracing. Unmoving. She's hurting my shoulder, but I really don't mind. _

"I never cry." So that tightness in her throat was a warning sign of something else.

"I know."

"I'm not crying now." Because there was no reason to cry. And she wouldn't, even if there was.

"I know that, Faith."

Silence. "I'm gonna need a vibe."

Silence. "Pardon?" His voice came out somewhere between tenor and swallowed-too-much-helium.

"I don't know if tea is some kind of natural sex stopper, but if I'm not going to go around shagging anything that buys me drinks and has nice wheels, I need a 'little friend'. Well... not_ too_ little."

"Can we have this conversation when we're not touching? Or in the same room?" Wesley asked in a strangled voice.

"Why?" She clung a little harder, just to mess with him, and she laughed. She wouldn't really get one of those things. Probably.

"I just- that is- I'm very bad at this level of communication. I'm better at repressing and being in denial."

"So am I, I still gotta get a happy every now and then." She pulled back and tossed her hair. "Don't worry. I'll turn up the radio."

"Very considerate. Although I believe you only have one volume setting for any radio, which is 'too loud'." He said drily. _She always does this. When we're close at heart, she throws up one more layer to pierce._

_ Maybe I ought to stop trying to do that. Maybe they have to come down when they're ready._ _Maybe this is how we cope. We don't have anything but each other and our duties, and we don't fully have those things. You can't have each other until you've found yourselves. _

_ Unless of course you need each other to find that. Oh dear. _

"Wes. Stop staring at me like that." She shoved his shoulder as she slid from his knee. "I was kidding about the 'adult novelty'. That's what stakes are for."

"What?" Wesley was jolted abruptly back to the present, blinking, unwilling to comprehend. "Stakes? As- Faith, I touch those! I've-"

"I'm _joking_! I'm joking, calm down!" She laughed. "Whenever you get uptight, I have to loosen you up, okay?"

_I know that. I've known that for awhile. He shook his head, sighed, and smiled. _ "Do you think you could steer away from sexual references when 'loosening me up'?"

"You just walk right into it, Wes." Faith moaned.

"Walk into what?"

"I'm not making any promises. Stay loose- I won't have to do it so much."

"I'll attempt it." Wesley relaxed. So much, so fast. Their lives moving in day to day monotony or breakneck speeds. As long as you don't lose each other along the way... "I'm glad you like your gift, Faith."

She nodded. Saucy jokes and carnal cravings aside, she looked into his eyes. "I liked the engraving the best. And the warranty. And the fact that you went out to Hialeah-"

"In rush hour."

"In rush hour- 'cause you remembered my birthday. I actually forgot it." She shrugged.

"We can't have that. Shall we go out and paint the town red? You _are_ legally allowed to drink now. I can buy you champagne with a clear conscience." Wesley lured with a mock-serious smile.

"I kinda want to stay in and watch the Twelve Days of Wrestling marathon and order Chinese." Faith informed him, although she had to admit going out with Wes for a little non-slaying fun didn't sound terrible.

"You're the birthday girl." He inclined his head to her.

"Then after that, I want to go out and do a little hunting with my new toy."

"As I said, you're the birthday girl." He hid a snicker under one of his modulated, polite coughs, but she caught the grin in his eyes.

* * *

"We're doing quite a lot. Who knew there would be such a variety here? I thought demons tended to migrate to the west coast, nearer to the Hellmouth."

"Demons are everywhere." Faith said with a shrug. "You just need to have the Slayer spine."

"What?"

"The spine. You get kind of a weird bad chill after awhile, when they're near you." She wiped her hands on her jacket and stood up. "Did you call an ambulance?"

"And I stopped the bleeding. I need more handkerchiefs."

"Or you could start carrying paper towels.

"Hrm. That aside," he trailed after her as she started walking away, "it's made me realize I could be a lot more helpful if I concentrated on demon species study and location."

"You lost me."

"I need to read my big dusty books, as you call them." He said long sufferingly.

"That ain't all I call 'em." Faith muttered. "Hey, it's only one. You want to head home or watch me make last call? Fifty bucks says I make double in an hour." She winked.

"I've no doubt you could." Wesley smiled. "But there's another late night establishment I noticed the other day."

"Oh yeah?" Faith asked suspiciously.

"Down one of those dank little alleyways. A second floor. Purple beaded curtains, a strange perfume coming out of-"

"Wes. Is this payback for the other day? Or do you need some touch?" She asked in tones of horrified seriousness, although her lips twitched, and her cheeks seemed to be having a hard time finding a position, torn between expressions of scolding or giggling.

Wesley flushed. "I was referring to an occultist and palmist's establishment."

"We got palm trees in our parking lot, dude."

"A palm-reader. And occultist- one who sells magical aids and ingredients, studies the way of the occult. We could use some supplies. Holy water. Incense to grind for protective powders."

"You do your magic, I do mine." She nodded.

"Be home by three?"

"You do the same, okay?"

"Aren't I always waiting there for you?"

Her stomach flip flopped. "Yep. See ya in a couple." Faith strode off in a hurry.

* * *

_So mad at you. I wouldn't speak to you if I wasn't your own mind. But I'm apparently wicked lost. _

_ No, just cracked. Maybe that fall knocked my common sense out. _Faith sighed inside, but on the outside her face remained hard and set, a woman on a mission, not to be trifled with by anything lurking in the dark, human or demon.

_ Is that what makes you get all gooey now? Faithful little house husband, waiting with your slippers and that eager expression?_

_ Don't talk about him like that. _Faith snapped at her bitter psyche. _He's never there with slippers, or some stupid expression. Just... happy to see me. And sometimes not always. Sometimes he's had a shitty day, and he just wants tea and aspirin and... _

_ I don't mind. _

_ I don't mind coming home to one of his tired smiles, or his half-nervous questions, 'cause he doesn't know if I'll think it's prying to ask me stuff. I like when he brings home the groceries and there's always beer and Starbursts in there with my vitamins and my stupid high protein bars he wants me to eat to "keep up my strength". Like I need any more strength. I could crack him in half and I wouldn't even chip a nail._

Her anger cooled. Calmed. Hinted. _So it's still just a game, huh? Using him? Not his cock, not his money. His heart. Finding the soft samaritan and using him that way? All about the things he buys and the things he does. All the stuff he doesn't ask for, all the stuff he doesn't take, even when you kinda want him to?_

Anger spiked back up, two warring factions in her skull, old and new perspectives taking it in turns to vent their fury at the other half.

_I don't use him. I share with him. Bitch. Get it through that head. _

_ He's my Watcher. He's ... my friend. _

No inner tirade. Anger replaced by fear.

_Maybe you should let him know that._

_ Maybe he already knows that._

* * *

"You want your palm read, Sweetheart?"

"Just a dozen of these, two of the white crystals, and the three packets of incense please." Wesley pointed to the little shelf behind her after he put down the dozen corked bottles emblazoned with crosses.

She caught his hand. "No charge. Not for you."

He swallowed. _It's a game. Almost always a game. Don't be taken_. "That's very kind of you, but not this evening, thank you."

"You're stubborn."

"Am I?" His father had always said he had the backbone of a sickly cod- easily snapped and boned.

"You find your own way."

_What generic statements. Thank her and move on. _"Wonderful to hear. Now, about my order?"

She released his hand, looking at him curiously. "Forty eight even."

"Here's fifty. You take the change for the palm reading." Wesley gave her a folded bill.

"You'll do it your own way." The lady put the money into the till with a small smile on her wrinkled face.

"Have a good evening."

"Happy holidays."

_Oh dear. It is. A few days, just a few days until Christmas. _

_ What do I get her? Do I get her anything? Didn't I just have this discussion?_

He walked through a shower of beads and atmospheric smoke down the grungy stairs, musing and looking concerned.

_Difficult people to shop for shouldn't have birthdays in the same month as Christmas._

_ I could get her another knife. She'd love that. _

_ I don't want her to think I only see her as a woman of weaponry. Especially not if she begins to associate my buying her a knife with her tackling me to the sofa._

Wesley paused. _Not such a bad association. If it was one lover playfully thanking another lover. Not when it's a woman who has always used her body as currency._

With a frown, he suddenly thought he'd go watch her tend bar after all.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"I finished shopping early, and I- thought I'd see you home."

"See me home? Dude. _No._" She scoffed, tossed her hair and slid beers down the polished bar.

"Then I just came to see you." He amended. "Club soda?"

She filled his glass, sauntering close to him, leaning over the counter, breasts in overflowing cups pressed to the surface. "You like to watch?" Her eyes were half-lidded and her lips seemed far too full and sensuous to navigate words.

"I- liked to participate in your endeavors." He answered stiffly. Then taking the glance, his shell cracked and he gave a conspiratorial smile. "Though I admit I do love to watch. It's sort of what I do."

She laughed, some throaty, sensual chuckle that was light at the same time, smiling so that sweet dimple appeared.

"Do truly love to watch that." He whispered, and his hand gestured to the happy cheek- then kept going, as if he would cup her face. She didn't back up.

"Hey! Glashes, shtop hogging the hot schick." Slurred a drunken customer. "Don' wanna mish las' call."

"Alright, big boy, whaddya having?" Faith slid easily to the man. "A cab or a DD?"

"I walked. My hotel... near here."

"Then go pour yourself into it. You can have soda or a cut off. What's it gonna be?"

"Hey! I wanna-"

"Oh my! I haven't seen you in ages! Are you staying near here?" Wesley suddenly stood and put his arm around the querulous man.

"Huh? Do I know you?" The soused patron cocked his head in confusion.

"It's Glasses! We met at a bar in Miami."

"Oh. Oh! Hey, Glashses. Bitch won't- won' give me a drink." He began to turn back, and Wesley marched him right in a circle.

"Terribly service. Let's get back to your hotel and raid that mini bar then, shall we?"

"Huh?"

"Your hotel. You're staying in town, aren't you?"

"Up the street."

"Excellent, we'll just tip the lovely barkeep and be on our way."

"But she didn't-"

"She was very helpful." Wesley nodded slowly, nodding until the drunk's head nodded too.

though he was doubtful. "She was?"

"Yes. She was. She looked out for you." Wesley said firmly.

"Oh. 'Kay then." The drunk humbly dropped several bills on the bar. "Shorry I called you a bish."

"Happens a lot." Faith winked and shook her head as Wesley took the lumbering man outside. _Doesn't even have to raise his voice or throw a punch. _

"You like guys in glasses?" Another patron addressed her, thick black rims, big false teeth, loud Miami pastel prints.

"I have a type." Faith said, realizing it wasn't just a filler phrase. Realizing it wasn't the same anymore.

_Don't even._ "It's called 'Imaginary'." She slammed her palms flat on the bar and shouted, "Last call!"

"Would the lady have a glass of red for a helpful gentleman?" Wesley inquired, reappearing.

Her lips quirked. "If the helpful gent would get in line like everyone else..."

* * *

"Hey, you're home late."

"Traffic is horrid."

"Tell me about it. Everyone besides us is in nutsville. My 'active duty' started at noon." Faith welcomed the Watcher into the luxury suite.

"What? Daylight demonic brawls?" He gasped.

"Nah, I broke up two little old lades fighting over an 'engrave your own pacemaker' set." Faith stretched and her spine cracked. "I figured I'd better stop in, grab some munchies and my backup."

"Give me a moment to change and plug the laptop back in."

"Computer issues? Part of the lateness?"

They made small talk now. Effortless, routine small talk.

"Partly. But aside from the traffic, the lines at the shops are equally mad. Christmas fever."

"Commercialism, dude." She scarfed pork rinds over the counter.

He clucked and brushed crumbs away from his tea cup, somehow magically filled and waiting for him. "Yes. Sad but true."

Half hidden glances as she ate and he sipped. "So... why were you at the shops?" Faith asked nonchalantly.

"Hm? Oh. Just picking up some paper goods." Cards. Four of them. But they _were_ made of paper...

She nodded, like she didn't care. Hadn't wondered.

Wesley turned the tables, one eyebrow raising, "What were you doing out of the flat as early as _noon_? You went to bed as I was leaving for the library."

"Speaking of people being out of the apartment, you know you can work here. What's with hitting up the library?" Faith avoided.

"Peace and quiet. If I have to sit through one more moment of Merry Wrest-mas..."

"Dammit, I'm going to miss tonight's Twelve Days of Wrestling block." Faith suddenly realized. "It's a grudge match, too."

"How will we ever survive?" He gently patted her elbow. "Give me a moment and I'll change into something I don't mind getting covered in blood and dust."

"We still haven't found that nest!" Faith reminded him as he headed to his room.

"I know! Oh- and you still didn't answer my question!" He called through the door.

"There's a lot of that going around." She shook her, crossed her arms, allowing herself a little smile. It faded. _An afternoon of shopping and nothing for the guy. Sounds like he had the same issue. He already got me a wicked cool birthday gift. That's enough. Y'know. On top of the saving my life and buying me a starter wardrobe, food, wheels, roof._

* * *

He hurriedly undressed and redressed, finding a moment to take care of the laptop and his papers, to put down the cards. One for his mother- just because his father disowned him, didn't mean he no longer loved his mother. One for Giles- the only true quasi-friend he had in the "outside world". One for his employer- common good manners. One for... well, for her, but he didn't know if he'd ever give it to her. Would she think it stupid to give a card to the person with whom you're currently sharing an address?

_Sharing many addresses. Half a year's worth_. His head spun.

_My most meaningful, longest relationship is with a woman who's pointed a gun at me. _

_Father would die laughing. _

_ Not an unpleasant thought, unfortunately_. "Shall we buy a ham?"

"Huh?"

He emerged in jeans and a long sleeve cotton shirt, a recent purchase. He put on his stained khaki jacket, already loaded with weaponry. "For Christmas dinner."

"Dude. A whole ham? For two of us?"

"They sell portions, don't they?"

"Spam. Comes in a 'portion' for two."

"I refuse to eat spam for Christmas. Barring the actual necessity of us doing so, such as being trapped in an abandoned mine filled with military surplus."

"Man, where is your mind going these days?" Faith laughed and gave him a wide berth as they headed from the apartment together, tossing him a PB and J as they locked up.

"I find myself imagining all sorts of otherwise unimaginable scenarios when you're involved." Wesley smiled, a weary, but easy grin, and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

A few days passed without success. Oh, demons and vampires were killed, but no nest found. Not the nest their first vampire hinted about. No more bodies turned up in the water, according to the coroner, but several people ended up in the hospital, according to the news.

"You see this?"

"Miami expects record cold snap for Christmas Day?" Wesley peered over her shoulder at the television, polishing his glasses on his last undamaged handkerchief.

"Three teens from Biscayne Bay rushed to hospital. Victims of severe anemia. Punctures on arms and neck, no memory of incident."

"That can happen during thrall. One loses track of time, events..."

"So my date wasn't the only one with a little spooky up his sleeve?"

"Seems not. Or they could have been drugged first, then fed from. Hit on the head."

"Why not kill them?"

"Caution. Word must have spread by now that there's a slayer in town."

"Yeah, I guess that'd-" Faith turned from the screen and did a double take. "Uh. Hey, Handsome. Big date?"

"Not at all." He smiled and smoothed his tie.

"What's with your Watcher costume?" Faith asked disdainfully. The suit. The tie. The recently barbered hair slicked back into pompous ass style.

"I thought you were working tonight? Some comment about lonely people drowning sorrows before the bars close tomorrow?" He saw the frown on her lips, the wariness in her eyes and turned away, looking at his reflection in the window. His hands rearranged his hair into a slightly less severe style.

"Yeah, I figured the Christmas Eve shift has to be one most regular staff can't wait to bail on. Gonna be all lonely old people and deadbeat dads, crummy tippers." She followed him, unfolding herself from the sprawl on the couch. "Where ya goin'?"

A sigh. "If you must know, church."

"Church?" Her head tilted slightly, repeating the word. "As in the pointy roof, lots of benches church?" She clarified, torn between bewilderment and amusement.

"Attending a service on Christmas Eve is traditional for me. You don't have to come." Wesley ignored the faint mocking in her tone, turning from her, gathering up wallet and weaponry.

"Why in the world would I _wanna_ come?" Faith demanded.

"I have no idea. I was merely stating what I was doing, since you asked." He hadn't told her his plans. He'd only recently decided them himself.

He had a few days of struggle since Thanksgiving, and then post-birthday. How did this "new Wesley", he of the second chance to be what no one believed he could be, celebrate holidays? How was "new Wesley" a Watcher who could remain human and heartfelt? He needed to find a balance between casting off shackles that bound him to being a man he hated and living a life he despised, and avoiding a complete purge of things that gave him an identity he could respect.

Church on Christmas Eve had been his father's command, a tradition of pressed suits, stern voices, and orders to hurry into the car and not play in the snow. He abandoned that.

Church on Christmas Eve, a time to show thanks for the gifts in your life? He embraced whole heartedly. Wesley had never felt so humbled by unexpected, one of a kind gifts in his life. Never even appreciated his life for life itself before this autumn.

"You're welcome to come with me, if you choose. I won't be long, either way."

Faith watched him find his keys, and felt some sort of uncertain anger coming over her. The holier than thou types. For some reason, him in the full suited regalia, with his almost dismissive attitude, riled her. "I can't believe _you're_ going."

Her suddenly venomous tone startled him. He wasn't insisting she attend, and they went their separate ways quite often. "Well, I-"

"You know- go if you want to, but don't think I'm stupid enough to buy into all that church crap."

Hackles rose, but voice stayed even. "Now, just a-"

"There's so much evil everywhere and have you seen my life? Pure _shit_. Why would I waste time going to some big building full of wannabe saints? Why would I believe there's some big guy in the sky up there, someone who magically hears prayers?" Her eyes flashed dangerously.

Hurt. Angry.

_How many times do you think she prayed for something good to happen to her? How many nights alone, or with people she hated? How many times did she feel that prayers were useless? _Wesley's expression remained the same, voice flat and stoic as everything inside of him softened, but kept it hidden from the girl who hated pity, hated whenever he looked past the hard veneer. "If there's a hell, there must be a heaven, Faith." He responded.

_So calm. How can he be so calm when I'm ready to smack some sense into him? I thought he was so smart. He's getting duped_. "No, there's just hell. Things don't always have to go together, not in the real world, Wes. Heaven don't happen, hell I've met. Hell is all there is. At least for some of us." She avoided his eyes suddenly, anger flaring, then settling slightly as old wounds threatened to open, and she checked them with her armor of indifference. A shrug of shoulders under sable locks, "I know you had the good life so I get why you'd think that-"

Wesley spoke under her, that quiet calm that always reached into the eye of her storm. "I had no life to speak of. I had a series of carefully timed events, plain as blank pages, for many years. I had everything good, grand, and exciting," he released a melancholy smile, "a home most would envy, an education and opportunities the rest of the world would covet, a job out of a fantasy novel." The smile shrank until it barely touched the corners of his lips. "All of that and it all seems so blurred, hours of study and books and memorization, always trying, never quite succeeding. I can't remember any days clearly. Nothing until the day I met you."

Faith blinked. Her mouth made a twitch in time with the sudden hard swallow her throat was forcing her to take. Her voice came out hoarse, hands suddenly nervous. "But still, I-"

"No buts. Not for me. It's Christmas. We thank God for the gifts in our lives. Now, you stay here and enjoy your wrestling special, Tinsel Tommy vs. Santa Sledgehammer, or you enjoy your evening at the bar. I'll go out and do my thanking." He bowed his head to her, small smile still there, a tiny flame that warmed her and burned her, and backed out of the flat.

* * *

She put on black jeans. Her boots. Her dark blue denim jacket over a clean, simple black tee. Her lips remained unvarnished, eyes un-accentuated with their usual black paint.

You're not going to earn anything but pity tips looking like this, her inner voice scolded.

No echoing argument. Somehow, in spite of her denials and her anger, and her "plan" to head to the bar, Faith knew her feet wouldn't take her there.

He wasn't hard to follow. He hadn't taken the car, which meant a few blocks. They were surrounded by a loud, flashy city. Churches stood out by their very plainness. Picking the direction and knowing the distance, she walked, hands jammed in pockets, shoulders angrily hunched.

_You don't have to do this. _

_ I'm _not _doing this._

_ Not doing what he said. I don't have anything to thank God for. I have a lot to thank Wes for, and I thank him. Sort of. He thanks me back, the idiot. _She kicked a crumpled can and sent it sailing down the street with her pent up strength.

She didn't like to reflect. Life before this on the run- second chance stuff hadn't made her think much. Survive. Survive. Sex. Smokes. Cash. Want, take, have, bury the pain, inflict the pain, lap it up and fuck it out. That good grunting "hunhh" that came from her loins, and that warrior scream of "kill or be killed" from her throat blocked out so many unwelcome things, like finding reasons for her actions.

Those grunts were turned off, the cry muted, still there, but only turned onto full volume when the battle raged. Now her pesky brain demanded, "So if you're not doing what he wanted, why are you standing in front of some church on Christmas Eve?"

She circled the block a few times, trying to make the persistent question leave, but it only kept insisting on having an answer, until her brain seemed to spasm and spit out a reply.

_It seemed important to Wes. He didn't back down. He didn't get mad, or beg or bribe, or whine. He said it was something he wanted to do, with or without me and he left and came here. I think. _

She was back at the front, reading signs. First Episcopal of Miami. Candlelight Christmas Eve service in the chapel. Following arrows. Realizing she was late. Realizing she could see him, even in the dimness, a lone figure in the back pew, standing out as he sat, one man in a sea of couples and families.

_I came because something mattered to him, with our without me, and I want it to be with me. _

She wasn't dressed in finery, but no one noticed, her outfit chosen to blend in, not stand out, even if she was out of place. An organ played a joyful but stately tune as she slid in the back, took a candle from the box, and then silently sat beside him.

He felt her body beside his. His fingers, clasped together around the base of a thin white taper, tightened once, but he said nothing. Glad she came, yes. Always glad to see her, no matter the location. This wasn't about his wishes.

Faith found him tipping his candle touch hers, passing a pinpoint of light in the warm, gray halo of candlelight surrounding the back pew.

Silence amidst the tunes. No one sang along. No preacher dude rattling on about heaven and being good.

"What are we doing now?" She finally whispered.

"Being thankful." He whispered in reply.

_Big help, Wes_. "What do I say?" Faith hissed.

"Nothing." He resisted the urge to put his finger to his lips and mime shushing her.

"Well, what are _you_ saying?" Her hissing wouldn't abate.

_This is rapidly going to end up like the library... _"I'm thanking God that we're alive, we haven't been arrested, and we're not in mortal danger this evening. Also my job. A roof over our heads- with a pool this time- and- other things." Wesley explained in a rushed whisper, slowing down abruptly at the end.

_Me. Thanking God for me_. Her laugh came out forced and raspy. "I'd better not be on the list, Wes. You'll piss off the almighty."

His face remained grave. "I cannot believe He'd be mad at me for thanking him for bringing the most exasperating thing He's ever created into my life." The expression softened and the words took on a chuckling quality. "How many people can say that, after all? Now, hush. I'm thanking him for the best thing He's ever given me and I'm going to attempt some reverence." Her mouth opened, head beginning to shake in disagreement, and he stopped her with a head returning to bow. "If you don't like it, you can leave. No one's forcing this."

* * *

She stayed. Scooted over a little farther in the pew, like she could catch his fool beliefs the same way she caught his niceness and his stupid insistence on honesty and talking. She closed her eyes.

_Or maybe you're scooting away so God won't give him the same treatment He gave you. Ignoring him. _

_ If you think someone ignores you, that means they exist. Or you _think _they do. Duh. What kind of name is Faith, for someone who doesn't have any? I should totally change my name. Use an alias. _

Huffing under her breath, eyes open and impatient, scanning the area.

_ How long until the show starts? You can't let people just sit here and mutter at the ceiling, or sit with their eyes closed. Not with all the candles, something's gonna catch on fire. _

_ Hm. A good fire would empty this place in five minutes and-_

_ I totally just thought about burning down a church on Christmas Eve. This has _nothing_ on the library incident._

With a deep, disgruntled sigh, she tried this thing called praying.

_Um. Hi? Hello?_

_ No answer. I didn't expect to hear a voice talking back, or a beep or whatever and -I really don't think you'd listen to me. You never did before. Maybe you were just on vacation or chilling in the Vatican for the last twenty years. You sure weren't in Boston. But- um... year twenty one seems to be starting off okay, gotta admit. Weather's been great, the place we're crashing is sweet, no major injuries... Thanks for that. _

Faith sighed again. So uncomfortable, and yet- she kinda got why Wes would do it. It was nice to tell someone, someone who wouldn't talk back, or make comments, what you were thinking. _No wonder Wes prays, with me an' my mouth around him twenty four seven..._

Back to praying, less painfully this time. _Thanks for him too. Wes. I mean. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, English guy. Just in case you weren't sure which one. They're probably all English though. You probably know who I mean. Never mind. You made him a little uptight, -way uptight- but otherwise, really nice job._

Her brow crinkled and her eyes slitted open, staring into the flame as if she was challenging the unseen deity. _ If you ever take him away, now that I'm used to him and his tea cups and cashmere socks and stuff- I'm gonna come up there and ... you know what I can do. It I can rattle hell's cages, you know how I'd handle the nice guys upstairs, right? _

_ But you take care of him and we're gonna call the last twenty years even. Deal?_

No reply. She didn't know why she expected one. And once you started talking to nothing, or to what gave nothing in reply, it was kind of tricky to end things.

_ Happy birthday to your boy. I guess- amen? I don't know. Faith, over and out._

"Let us stand and sing together, Joy to the World."

"Wes, I can't stay for singing." Faith looked suddenly panicked. "Praying was bad enough."

"I'll see you at home?"

"How 'bout you come home with me?" Faith asked as the music swelled around them. "Not to screw with your traditions, I just can't do hymns, man."

_The unspoken connection being she'd rather I be with her. She came where I was. I go with her. _ He blew out his flame in answer, she puffed out hers, and they skirted the back row to the exit.

The chill had picked up, the air had dried out. Lights twinkled on roofs.

"We didn't buy a tree. Or a wreath." Wesley mused as they walked.

"One in the lobby. That counts."

"I didn't buy a ham for our dinner tomorrow."

"I did. A little one. It's really easy to make. And you put it a foil pan, just throw it out at the end. I put the ham behind that case of Miller. Pan's already in the oven."

"You dark horse!" Wesley exclaimed.

"Well, I'm glad you like it, 'cause that's the only thing I figured out to give you. One hard to ruin Christmas dinner."

"You're one up on me then. Besides. I have a truly 'badass' leather jacket, taken from a dangerous vampire. That's a pretty impressive gift for a stuffy Watcher."

"You don't just watch anymore. You're pretty gung ho." _Kinda wish he'd dial it down a little bit sometimes, cool as it is. _

"I'm still a Watcher. Nothing approaching a Slayer."

"No... maybe a demon hunter."

"Oooh. I say, I like the sound of that. That's two presents from you, and I'm still at zero."

"You told me it wasn't about gifts, right?"

"Good heavens, you actually _listened _to me?" He feigned incredulity. She elbowed him. "Ow. I'm a demon hunter, but I'm still human. Watch throwing those steel elbows of yours."

"Whiner."

"Brute."

"Happy Christmas, Faith."

"Back at ya, Wes."

* * *

_This is how we fill in the gaps. This is how we are neither hard nor soft. She made me a ham, and I made the rest. We watched wrestling (because I'm a push over, that's why) and we swam, the only two people in an entire pool built for fifty. We didn't hug on Christmas morning, but her smiles feel like every embrace you could ask for, when they're real, and they're just for me. _

_ She liked her card. I didn't know what to write, so I simply signed my name, but she seemed to love it. _

_ We went out in the evening, in search of a night cap, and I insisted upon wearing my leather jacket. The temperature has actually dropped into the fifties and people are bundled up like Miami has suddenly been transformed into the Arctic Circle. Except her and I. We're always in jackets, concealing all the weaponry of our trade._

_I think, and it may be presumptuous, but I think she would like something physical. Not between us, necessarily, just as a current convenience. _

He paused in writing, and remembered the kisses, three now, three very memorable, very distinctive kisses, and each so different. No. It was not presumptuous, but he kept the line on the page. Presuming to know her wants at all, that was the tricky bit. Knowing the surface desires was so much simpler.

_But it would only be physical. There would be no love it in. Perhaps some sort of friendship. When she perched above me on the edge of the pool, water-black hair dripping, and her hands suddenly touched my shoulders, I thought I read messages in her fingertips. Turns out she was only checking for scars and tenderness after our fight with the Hellions. _

_She slid into the water, right against me, and smiled that wicked smile. She has no shyness about her body or the sensuality she could use to enslave even the strongest willed men, let alone some pathetic creature like me._

_ I don't think she understands why I resist. It obviously means so little to her, just a commodity. It isn't like I'm some wonderful lover she should pursue, it isn't like I have any virtue left to preserve. Even if I did, I would give it to her, she can have anything I have. _

_ That's what it feels like when I'm with her. That I could give her anything, but that I keep some back. Protecting her. Protecting me. _

_ I don't love her that way. _

_ But I do love her, dearly love her. _The ink told him something he should have already known. He reread it three times before he could move on. Realization had hit, and then kept coming, bringing truths in its wake.

_She doesn't love me. I don't mind. Isn't that strange? I don't. I'm thrilled she trusts me and likes me, and that we're happy together. _

_ I just can't complete one more flawed circle for her. She's done everything physical in every way, but never seems to have done it in love._

_ I refuse to be one more wrong way. _

He turned the page, and turned the tone, scribbling hurriedly.

_If she knew I had thoughts like this, she'd tease me unmercifully. The gentleman, the reject from last century, full of myself and my high ideals. _

_ Maybe that's just part of who I am now. Or maybe it's part of me, only for now. We've changed so much._

_ Wine makes me reflective. She makes me happy. _

_ That's enough for tonight._

* * *

He got up, stumbled sleepily from desk to bed, finding his jacket strewn across the silk sheets. Wesley tsked at his own sloppiness, and shook the coat out before hanging it on the back of the chair.

A little piece of paper fell to the floor. Not his writing. Written in Spanish, not English. He retrieved it. Read it. Frowned, read it once more, then smiled.

* * *

"What? What's wrong?" Faith came to the bedroom door, blurry eyed and holding a pillow in front of her. She had nothing on behind it.

"Merry Christmas!" Wesley held out something triumphantly.

"I'm still on 'what?'. Dude, I've been asleep for like- an hour. That's not enough time for me to be nice, okay?" Faith snarled.

"I have a gift for you." He shook his hand at her, rustling paper.

"Yeah? Is it one I can lay down for?" A glimmer of suggestion under a cloak of exhaustion, mind completely ignoring the scrap flapping at her wrist.

"I know it's late, and technically Christmas is over, but- I think I found the nest."

"You did? How?" Instantly alert, she finally realized Wesley was holding out a paper to her. She took it, and handed it back. "I can't read that."

"It's a note with an address. It came out of the bottom of one the jacket pockets. Says the 'shop has been moved', and if he has any 'sweet young things to share', he should bring them to this new address. Well, it's not a specific address but it's easily decipherable. They mention the cross street and the back entrance, and -"

"Good times playing detective, Wes?" Faith smothered a yawn with one hand, pillow stopping precariously as she did so.

"We can get them. At dawn. Think, Faith, almost everyone spends Christmas with relatives or at home. They'll have comparatively few targets, they may even have turned in already."

"Dawn is in - three hours?" She squinted into the living room, trying to make out the clock. "And we still have to find the place?"

"I'll buy you coffee."

_Damn that eager puppy look_. "And muffins, dude. Lots of muffins."

"A dozen. Are you in?"

She groaned. "Of course I'm in. Set your alarm for butt crack of dawn. Are we doing this Philly-style?"

"Crossbows and holy water missiles from the rear, roundhouses and stakes from the fore? Sounds like a plan to me."

"Let's do it. Wake me up in a couple." Adrenaline started to pump. Facing a nest, an early morning raid- then coffee and muffins. Feeling like she'd washed some of that irremovable guilt-laden blood off her hands with every city she "saved", even if it wasn't really saved, but she'd served time there, one month of good to begin to pay back for months of the lives she'd taken.

Adrenaline tangled up with something akin to hope.

_ It's a miracle. A Christmas miracle. I might start to like holidays after all._


End file.
